(via gatekeeper)
I am STRONG because I know my Weakness.
I am BEAUTIFUL because I see my flaws.
I am a LOVER because I have felt hate.
I am FEARLESS because I have been afraid.
I am WISE because I have been foolish.
And I can LAUGH because I have known sadness
The thunder rolls
distant thunder rolls
growing nearer
natures fury unleashed upon the land
the wind howls across fields and through trees
me, i stand outside
marveling at the sheer beauty
Love is a desperate artifice to take the place of those two original parents who turned out not to be omnisciently right gods, but rather a pedestrian pair of muddled suburbanites who, no matter how bumblingly they tried, never could quite understand how or why you grew up to your 21st birthday. Love is not this if you make it something creatively other. But most of you are not very good at making things. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” What a pat speech. Why do my beheld beauties varnish and deform themselves as soon as I look twice.
“
| — | The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath |
She Walks In Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
It’s all mirror, mirror on the wall because beauty is power the same way money is power the same way a gun is power.
“
| — | Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk |
The tall beautiful catlike girl who wore an original hat to work every day rose to one elbow from where she had been napping on the divan in the conference room, yawned and said with beautiful bored nastiness: “I’m so glad they are going to die.” She gazed vaguely and very smugly around the room, closed her enormous green eyes and went back to sleep.
“
| — | The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath |
