Oh, how they come and go

Betty said she prayed today
For the sky to blow away
Or maybe stay
She wasn't sure.

without

And I sit here without identity: faceless.
My head aches.

The Unabridged Journals, Sylvia Plath

a self, every moment it exists, is in a process of becoming

for the self [kata dynamin - potentially] is not present actually, it is merely what is to come into existence. in so far, then, as the self does not become itself, it is not itself; but to not be oneself is exactly despair.


The Sickness Unto Death, Søren Kierkegaard

Don't you forget about me

i won't
won't tell nobody

Tonight

I want to resemble a sort of liquid light which stretches beyond visibility or invisibility. Tonight I wish to have the valor and daring to belong to the moon.


A Writer’s Diary, Virginia Woolf

Nietzsche lo pone en duda

by santosxpecadores