“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, and by each crime, and every kindness, we birth our future.” “You can maintain power over people as long as you give them something. Rob a man of everything and that man will no longer be in your power.”— Alexander Solzhenitsyn “Freedom, the fatuous jingle of our civilization. But only those deprived of it have the barest inkling of what it really is.” “You have to do whatever you can’t not do.” “Belief, like fear or love, is a force to be understood, as we understand the Theory of Relativity, and Principles of Uncertainty, phenomena that determine the course of our lives. Yesterday, my life was headed in one direction. Today, it is headed in another. Yesterday I believed I would never have done what I did today. These forces that often remake time and space, that can shape and alter who we imagine ourself to be, begin long before we are born and continue after we perish. Our lives and our choices, like quantum trajectories, are understood moment to moment. At each point of intersection, each encounter suggests a new potential direction.” “But what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?” — Cloud Atlas View high resolution

“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, and by each crime, and every kindness, we birth our future.”

“You can maintain power over people as long as you give them something. Rob a man of everything and that man will no longer be in your power.”— Alexander Solzhenitsyn

“Freedom, the fatuous jingle of our civilization. But only those deprived of it have the barest inkling of what it really is.”

“You have to do whatever you can’t not do.”

“Belief, like fear or love, is a force to be understood, as we understand the Theory of Relativity, and Principles of Uncertainty, phenomena that determine the course of our lives. Yesterday, my life was headed in one direction. Today, it is headed in another. Yesterday I believed I would never have done what I did today. These forces that often remake time and space, that can shape and alter who we imagine ourself to be, begin long before we are born and continue after we perish. Our lives and our choices, like quantum trajectories, are understood moment to moment. At each point of intersection, each encounter suggests a new potential direction.”

“But what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?”

— Cloud Atlas

10 Life Lessons from Calvin & Hobbes

nieuwebegin: thatsnotmyhand: buzzfeed: You can change the direction this train is moving just by thinking about it. That is freaky. Freaky train.

nieuwebegin:

thatsnotmyhand:

buzzfeed:

You can change the direction this train is moving just by thinking about it.

That is freaky.

Freaky train.

(Reblogged from nieuwebegin)
“
It is a common myth within capitalist thought that the individual through drive and hard work can become a capitalist. In the USA, it is usual to refer to an individual like John D. Rockefeller as someone who rose from “Rags to riches”. To complete the moral of the Rockefeller success story it would be necessary to fill in the details on all the millions of people who had to be exploited in order for one man to become a multi millionaire.
The acquisition of wealth is not due to hard work alone, or the Africans working as slaves in America and the West Indies would have been the wealthiest group in the world.
The individualism of the capitalist must be seen against the hard and unrewarded work of the masses.
How Europe underdeveloped Africa (Individualism) - Walter Rodney (via knowledgeappliedispower)
(Reblogged from epistephilia)

John Lennon - I’m Stepping Out [HiQ] (by TheBeatleMirko)

Had this stuck in my head all morning; had to post.

If it don’t feel right, you don’t have to do it.

Just leave a message on the phone, and tell ‘em to screw it.

After all is said and done, you can’t go pleasing everyone so screw it.

Watching The Wheels - John Lennon (by aDayInTheLife56)

“
I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter. We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide.
James Kavanaugh (via unmistakable-me)

(Source: insipidexpectations)

(Reblogged from zspin)
baguenauder: (via naturally unnatural) Digging By Seamus Heaney Between my finger and my thumb    The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound    When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:    My father, digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds    Bends low, comes up twenty years away    Stooping in rhythm through potato drills    Where he was digging. The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft    Against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked, Loving their cool hardness in our hands. By God, the old man could handle a spade.    Just like his old man. My grandfather cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner’s bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, going down and down For the good turf. Digging. The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. But I’ve no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it. View high resolution

baguenauder:

(via naturally unnatural)

Digging

By Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   
Bends low, comes up twenty years away   
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
(Reblogged from lajoiedespetiteschoses)
(Reblogged from ozonebabys-temple)
Kerry Washington — Damn is all I can think to say. Intellect and beauty…damn. Raise your hand if you’re sexy; okay, everyone but Kerry put your hand down. View high resolution

Kerry Washington — Damn is all I can think to say. Intellect and beauty…damn. Raise your hand if you’re sexy; okay, everyone but Kerry put your hand down.

“
I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled [poets] to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean.
Socrates (via ybb55)
(Reblogged from ybb55)
“
Shame works like the zoom lens on a camera. When we are feeling shame, the camera is zoomed in tight and all we see is our flawed selves, alone and struggling.
Brené Brown (via aufwaerts)

(Source: the-healing-nest)

(Reblogged from aufwaerts)
“
But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.
Margaret Atwood  (via aufwaerts)

(Source: armsoreal)

(Reblogged from aufwaerts)