Salman Rushdie, Midnight’s Children
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.
people so tired
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
watering a plant.—Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog from Hell (via balen-en-balenciaga)
Miracles do happen.
You must believe this. No matter what else you believe about life, you must believe in miracles.
Because we are all, every one of us, living on a round rock that spins around and around at almost a quarter of a million miles per hour in an unthinkably vast blackness called space.
There is nothing else like us for as far as our telescopic eyes can see.
In a universe filled with spinning, barren rocks, frozen gas, ice, dust, and radiation, we live on a planet filled with soft, green leaves and salty oceans and honey made rom bees, which themselves live within geometrically complex and perfect structures of their own architecture and creation.
In our trees are birds whose songs are as complex and nuanced as Beethoven’s greatest sonatas.
And despite the wild, endless spinning of our planet and its never-ending orbit around the sun — itself a star on fire — when we pour water into a glass, the water stays in the glass.
All of these are miracles.—Augusten Burroughs, This is How (via crazylovewords)