"Language is always an abbreviation"

anthonybergen:

A writer continually struggles for clarity against the language he’s using, or, more accurately, against the common usage of that language.  He doesn’t see language with the readability and clarity of something printed out.  He sees it, rather, as a terrain full of illegibilities, hidden paths, impasses, surprises, and obscurities.  Its map is not a dictionary but the whole of literature and perhaps everything ever said.  Its obscurities, its lost senses, its self-effacements come about for many reasons — because of the way words modify each other, write themselves over each other, cancel one another out, because the unsaid always counts for as much, or more, than the said, and because language can never recover what it signifies.  Language is always an abbreviation.

- John Berger, Post-Scriptum

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You can only hold a smile for so long, after that it’s just teeth.
Chuck Palahniuk (via quote-book) ()
howmyheartbehaves:(via drunkenbutterfly)

howmyheartbehaves:(via drunkenbutterfly)

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The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst I think. When the secret stays locked within not for a want of a teller but for an ear.
Stephen King (via daphneemarie) (via gracielalala) ()
(via swestwick)

(via swestwick)

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My heart wants this so badly while my body refuses to commit. There is so much struggle just to keep myself unified. I can’t believe that I’m only one person.

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Today was wonderfully sweet. It was a calm perkiness. And delicate, so delicate, like our hearts during the holidays. My veins are swollen with hushed joy, a wide smile without laughter. These are the days that underline my life. These are the days that make sleeping so hard and waking up so easy. These are the days filled with love for everyone and everything. These are the days I wish I could share with you.

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(via precipice)

(via precipice)

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First meal as a 20-year-old? Rice Krispies cereal and chocolate. Now all I need is the vodka and I’m off to a good year.

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Writing about how I feel is so easy. Reading about how I feel is almost destructive. Somewhere along the way, suppressed memories and neglected issues sneak their way into my paragraphs. I never really know how any piece of writing will turn out but I often end up with a handful of sleepless nights.

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