— Delacroix, 1858 (via violentwavesofemotion)
(Source: idterab, via decayingorganicmatter)
The outcome of my days is always the same: an infinite desire for what one never gets, a void one cannot fill, an utter yearning to produce in all ways, to battle against time that drags us along, and the distractions that throw a veil over our soul.
There is no escape. You can’t be a vagabond and an artist and still be a solid citizen, a wholesome, upstanding man. You want to get drunk, so you have to accept the hangover. You say yes to the sunlight and pure fantasies, so you have to say yes to the filth and the nausea. Everything is within you, gold and mud, happiness and pain, the laughter of childhood and the apprehension of death. Say yes to everything, shirk nothing. Don’t try to lie to yourself. You are not a solid citizen. You are not a Greek. You are not harmonious, or the master of yourself. You are a bird in the storm. Let it storm! Let it drive you! How much have you lied! A thousand times, even in your poems and books, you have played the harmonious man, the wise man, the happy, the enlightened man. In the same way, men attacking in war have played heroes, while their bowels twitched. My God, what a poor ape, what a fencer in the mirror man is— particularly the artist— particularly myself!
— Hermann Hesse (via ihatenietzsche)
(Source: samsaranmusing, via ihatenietzsche)
I would rather die of passion than of boredom.
— Vincent van Gogh (via suiicune)
(Source: larmoyante, via villainsorcivilians)
I carry my ID in my pocket when I feel like going on bike rides in case I get run over by a car and no one can identify my body. Is this weird?
