Oxymoron

Nothing Can stop Me Now

I know how Elliott Smith felt

“Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.”

“What passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human [...] is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naïve and goo-prone and generally pathetic.”

there’s a certain arrogance in surviving winter. as if suffering through the cold, the gray, the early darkness somehow makes you superior, more deserving. as if endurance itself is a virtue. but then spring arrives; not all at once, but in quiet, deliberate gestures. a longer stretch of daylight. the wet, dark smell of thawing earth. the first day you leave the house without a coat and don’t regret it. and suddenly, you remember: suffering is not the point. survival is not the reward. this is.

Who will dry your eyes

خوشگلا، جوراب شلواری طرح‌دار و رنگی کجا می‌خرید؟ ایدی پیج یا ادرس فروشگاه تو تهران بدید ممنون می‌شم:* https://t.me/BiChatBot?start=sc-4fe99c0bbc

Ach, die Gärten bist du, ach, ich sah sie mit solcher Hoffnung. Ein offenes Fenster im Landhaus—, und du tratest beinahe mir nachdenklich heran. Gassen fand ich,— du warst sie gerade gegangen, und die spiegel manchmal der Läden der Händler waren noch schwindlich von dir und gaben erschrocken mein zu plötzliches Bild.—Wer weiß, ob derselbe Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns gestern, einzeln, im Abend? -Du im Voraus