I have 7 bookcases in my house. I’m long home.

I have 7 bookcases in my house. I’m long home.

I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via quotethat)

:(

The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.
Italo Calvino ends his novel Invisible Cities with a small token of advice on how to live through the pressure of challenging, complex times:
After Caroline Paul crashes an experimental plane she was piloting, she finds herself severely injured and spiraling into the depths of depression. When Caroline returns from the hospital with a shattered ankle, her two thirteen-year-old tabbies Tibby and Fibby are her only joy and comfort.

"Tibia and Fibula meowed happily when I arrived. They were undaunted by my ensuing stupor. In fact they were delighted; suddenly I had become a human who didn’t shout into a small rectangle of lights and plastic in her hand, peer at a computer, or get up and disappear from the vicinity, only to reappear through the front door hours later. Instead, I was completely available to them at all times. Amazed by their good luck, they took full feline advantage. They asked for ear scratches and chin rubs. They rubbed their whiskers along my face. They purred in response to my slurred, affectionate baby talk. But mostly they just settled in and went to sleep. Fibby snored into my neck. Tibby snored on the rug nearby. Meanwhile I lay awake, circling the deep dark hole of depression.

Without my cats, I would have fallen right in.”

Lost Cat: An Illustrated Meditation on Love, Loss, and What It Means To Be Human

After Caroline Paul crashes an experimental plane she was piloting, she finds herself severely injured and spiraling into the depths of depression. When Caroline returns from the hospital with a shattered ankle, her two thirteen-year-old tabbies Tibby and Fibby are her only joy and comfort.

"Tibia and Fibula meowed happily when I arrived. They were undaunted by my ensuing stupor. In fact they were delighted; suddenly I had become a human who didn’t shout into a small rectangle of lights and plastic in her hand, peer at a computer, or get up and disappear from the vicinity, only to reappear through the front door hours later. Instead, I was completely available to them at all times. Amazed by their good luck, they took full feline advantage. They asked for ear scratches and chin rubs. They rubbed their whiskers along my face. They purred in response to my slurred, affectionate baby talk. But mostly they just settled in and went to sleep. Fibby snored into my neck. Tibby snored on the rug nearby. Meanwhile I lay awake, circling the deep dark hole of depression.

Without my cats, I would have fallen right in.”

Lost Cat: An Illustrated Meditation on Love, Loss, and What It Means To Be Human

You are creating a language for humans.

"Take a step back from what you’re doing right now to look at the big picture. That style guide you’re working on is not only a guide. You are creating a language for humans so they can interact with a machine. You need to realize you’re not designing for users. Rather, you’re designing for humans. Design with care. Because those humans you’re designing interfaces for have senses and just like they smell rotten food, they can sense careless design as well."

- Kerem Suer, Hire a Designer now

Since I saw a grave when I was hitchhiking from France to Turkey, about a man who was dead at 27 years old (I’m 28), I say around me that I’m already dead, and each day it’s a extra life like you have extra minutes at the end of a soccer game.
Thought Catalog commenter
Reading with Troy, waiting for the inevitable.

Reading with Troy, waiting for the inevitable.

nevver:

Fuck it list
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold.

Don’t Date a Girl Who Reads

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold.

Don’t Date a Girl Who Reads

Godspeed, you tall, awkward Canadian.

Godspeed, you tall, awkward Canadian.

Soon.

Soon.

Local children singing hit Indonesian songs upon request. Totally made my day. (at Danau Toba)

Local children singing hit Indonesian songs upon request. Totally made my day. (at Danau Toba)