“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs. And maybe your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery, isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance. Of how much you really want to do it. And you’ll do it, despite rejection in the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods. And the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter, it’s the only good fight there is”—Bukowski (via pangealove) (via wildhoneypie) (via zladkohasaboaraffe)
you are NOT a great creative force in this world. You are not helping adults reach into their childhood imaginations. You are a phone company.
Hope you enjoy your shitty life when the iPhone goes Verizon.
This is my ringtone. It’s on my iPhone. No, you don’t have one; you’re on Verizon. I waited in line. That’s how I got mine. You sat your but at home. You got no iPhone. Everybody look at me; I got 3G. Everybody look at me; I got 3G. Everybody look at me; I got 3G.
“Without a firm idea of what he lives for, man will not consent to live and will sooner destroy himself than remain on earth, even if there is bread all around him.”—‘The Grand Inquisitor’ in The Brothers Karamazov (via tracesoftraces) (via dostoyevsky)
“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”—Henry David Thoreau (via reluctantbuddha) (via quote-book)
“So we are nearing the end. The right-hand, still untasted part of the novel, which, during our delectable reading, we would lightly feel, mechanically testing whether there were still plenty left (and our fingers were always gladdened by the placid, faithful thickness) has suddenly, for no reason at all, become quite meager: a few minutes of quick reading, already downhill, and—O horrible! The heap of cherries, whose mass had seemed to us such a ruddy and glossy black, had suddenly become discrete drupes: the one over there with the scar is a little rotten, and this one has dried and shriveled up around its stone (and the very last one is inevitably hard and unripe) O horrible!”—