Currently reading.

Because although the mouth and lips are physical, the way of holding them, even certain lines around them, are spiritual.

The Tunnel | Ernesto Sabato

غرض‌ها رو کنار بذاریم، همینگوی بخونیم و ببینیم چی می‌گه.

Annotating >>

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

Sylvia plath

بهم گفت قلبت خیلی مصمم می‌زنه. پرسیدم یعنی چی؛ گفت یه‌جوری که انگار خیلی مصممه برای بودن و زندگی کردن، انگار که هیجان‌ زدست. نمی‌دونستم چی بگم. بهش گفتم فکر نکنم هیچ‌وقت این توصیفشو یادم بره.

اگر دوست داشتین می‌تونین دمیان رو بخونید و بهمون جوین بشین. 🤍

Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)

یادش بخیر.

I was a seeker, and still I am. But I no longer look to the stars, or seek in books; I have started to hear the lessons roared and murmured by the blood in my body. My story is not a happy one, not pleasing and harmonious like something invented–it reeks of meaninglessness and confusion, of insanity and dream, like the life of anyone who no longer wants to lie to himself.

I was well aware that it was impossible to love me as I was, and I did not love myself either.

Demian
Book by Hermann Hesse

So lucky to have such people around.

من یخبندان رو چند ماه پیش خوندم. تیکه هایی که ازش دوست داشتم بیشتر از اونی بود که بخوام همرو اینجا پست کنم. تحمل سرما و تاریکی یخبندان کار هرکسی نیست. دوستی می‌گفت یخبندان مثل کپشن‌های اینستاست. باید تو تاریکی زندگی کرده باشی، به‌فنا رفتن رو تجربه کرده باشی تا بتونی یخبندان رو دووم بیاری. یخبندان اولین اثر توماس برنهارت؛ به‌قول مترجمِ اثر مثل یک رقصه‌؛ رقصِ مرگ.

I would reach no goal at all. Or maybe I would reach a goal, but it would turn out to be wicked, dangerous, terrible. All I wanted to do was try to live the life that was inside me, trying to get out. Why was that so hard?

Demian; Hermann Hesse

It was like how an autumn tree sheds its leaves : the tree feels nothing, the rain runs off it, or the sun, or the frost, and the life inside it slowly withdraws into its narrowest, innermost places. It does not die. It waits.

Demian | Hermann Hesse

The Piano Teacher (2001)

I know how it is, when you're taking a walk like this in the evening mist, with autumn thoughts, you want to write poems. Poems about dying nature. And the lost youth it's a symbol of.

Demiann | Hermann Hesse