[That’s it.] The lover writes, the believer hears,
The poet mumbles and the painter sees,
Each one, his fated eccentricity,
As a part, but part, but tenacious particle,
Of the skeleton of the ether, the total
Of letters, prophecies, perceptions, clods
Of color, the giant of nothingness, each one
And the giant ever changing, living in change.
Wallace Stevens, from “The Auroras of Autumn” (via the-final-sentence)
What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?
John Green (via styleandstarbucks)
