on becoming lion-hearted
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n, significance junkie
When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him. When a man is getting worse he understands his own badness less and less. A moderately bad man knows he is not very good: a thoroughly bad man thinks he is all right. This is common sense, really. You understand sleep when you are awake, not while you are sleeping. You can see mistakes in arithmetic when your mind is working properly: while you are making them you cannot see them. You can understand the nature of drunkenness when you are sober, not when you are drunk. Good people know about both good and evil: bad people do not know about either.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity   (via supperfiction)

When my husband [Carl Sagan] died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me — it still sometimes happens — and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again.

Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful.

The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.

Ann Druyan (via whats-out-there)

licoricewall:

小松菜奈 (Nana Komatsu): JILLE magazine (1920x1080)

licoricewall:

小松菜奈 (Nana Komatsu): JILLE magazine (1920x1080)

crucium:

(by .kopriva.)

crucium:

(by .kopriva.)

qdva:

Mine ft. Drake | Beyoncé

287219 listens
passivus:

Guy Billout

passivus:

Guy Billout

betheyogurt:

“Poems infatuated with their own smarts and detached from any emotional grounding can leave the reader feeling lonely, empty and ashamed for having expected more. Like icy adolescents, such poetry is more interested in commiserating than acknowledging that feelings—the sentiments that make us susceptible to sentimentality—actually exist.”

—Tracy K. Smith, “Wipe That Smirk Off Your Poem, published in The New York Times’ Opinion Pages (21 July 2014)

dandyvisual:

momoraru


notebookings:

My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

notebookings:

My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

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