Beach Scene, Newport, 1860, James Augustus Suydam
Next year I will not be the self of this year now. And that is why I laugh at the transient, the ephemeral; laugh, while clutching, holding, tenderly, like a fool his toy, cracked glass, water through fingers. For all the writing, for all the invention of engines to express & convey & capture life, it is the living of it that is the gimmick. It goes by, and whatever dream you use to dope up the pains and hurts, it goes. Delude yourself about printed islands of permanence. You’ve only got so long to live. You’re getting your dream. Things are working, blind forces, no personal spiritual beneficent ones except your own intelligence and the good will of a few other fools and fellow humans. So hit it while it’s hot.
Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath (via ki-r)
It must be obvious… that there is a contradiction in wanting to be perfectly secure in a universe whose very nature is momentariness and fluidity.
Alan Watts (via tired-of-earth)
The Forest Spirit, god of life and death
John Martin, The Valley of the Shadow of Death (Brown wash, watercolor, on paper), 1829.