
There is but one emotion that claws at the heart with the twin talons of anger and shame, savaging self-regard with haunting ferocity that feeds on itself.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/3mEDYXR
via IFTTT

There is but one emotion that claws at the heart with the twin talons of anger and shame, savaging self-regard with haunting ferocity that feeds on itself.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/3mEDYXR
via IFTTT

To create anything — a poem, a painting, a theorem, a garden — is not to will something new into being but to surrender to the most ancient and alive part of ourselves — the stratum of spirit vibrating with every experience we have ever had, every book we have ever read, every love we have eve
from Pocket https://bit.ly/3nQf5cc
via IFTTT

There is an ineffable comfort that our non-human companions bless upon our lives — those beings whose daily task it is to “bite every sorrow until it fled” — and with their loss comes an ineffable species of grief.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/415ABrt
via IFTTT

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe,” the great naturalist John Muir wrote in the middle of the nineteenth century.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/40LfqLH
via IFTTT

There is a reason we call our creative endowments gifts — they come to us unbidden from an impartial universe, dealt by the unfeeling hand of chance.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/42JJE35
via IFTTT

Friendship is the sunshine of life — the quiet radiance that makes our lives not only livable but worth living. (This is why we must use the utmost care in how we wield the word friend.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/3noT0kI
via IFTTT

We know that life is the self-correcting mechanism for error — as much in its evolutionary history as in its existential reality.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/42LOVak
via IFTTT

“Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you’re already in heaven now,” Jack Kerouac wrote in a beautiful 1957 letter to his first wife turned lifelong friend. “Kindness, kindness, kindness,” Susan Sontag resolved in her diary on New Year’s Day in 1972.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/3yQexFd
via IFTTT

“That is happiness,” Willa Cather wrote, “to be dissolved into something complete and great.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/402DNEc
via IFTTT

“You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love,” the artist Louise Bourgeois wrote in her diary.
from Pocket https://bit.ly/401SBmI
via IFTTT
You must be logged in to post a comment.