"How nice — to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive."
- Kurt Vonnegut; Slaughter-House Five
"It’s all relative. You’re pinned down in some filthy hellhole of a
paddy, getting your ass delivered to kingdom come, but then for a few seconds everything goes quiet and you look up and see the sun and a few puffy white clouds, and the immense serenity flashes against your eyeballs—the whole world gets rearranged—and even though you’re pinned down by a war you never felt more at peace."
- The Things They Carried
Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii
"‘…they may all be drunk at my place, but they’re all honest, and though we do lie- because I lie, too- in the end we’ll lie our way to the truth…’"
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, ”Crime and Punishment” (via wordsandetcetera)
First in a series of uncompromising self portraits I will be composing to document this quarter. This one is titled “Abject despair”