I’m so odd, and I’m so limited, and I’m so different from the ordinary human being—so you say. I have a strong suspicion that I’m the simplest of you all, and that its my extreme transparency that baffles you. I dont think I ever feel anything but the most ordinary emotions.

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Ethel Smyth (via violentwavesofemotion)

I told Miyazaki I love the “gratuitous motion” in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.

"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It’s called ma. Emptiness. It’s there intentionally.”

Is that like the “pillow words” that separate phrases in Japanese poetry?

"I don’t think it’s like the pillow word." He clapped his hands three or four times. "The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it’s just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension. If you just have constant tension at 80 degrees all the time you just get numb.

Rogert Ebert, on Hayao Miyazaki   (via automirror)

Sometimes, I think I busy myself so much, driven out of incessant fears and insecurity, that I do not give myself adequate moments to breathe. Ma - I need that for my self-growth. 

(via automirror)

His body smelled like a precious-wood forest; his hair, like sandalwood, his skin, like cedar. It was as if he had always lived among trees and plants.

Anaïs Nin (via floriental)

(via floriental)

It’s called the impostor syndrome. It’s almost like the better I do, the more my feeling of inadequacy actually increases, because I’m just going, Any moment, someone’s going to find out I’m a total fraud, and that I don’t deserve any of what I’ve achieved. I can’t possibly live up to what everyone thinks I am and what everyone’s expectations of me are. It’s weird—sometimes [success] can be incredibly validating, but sometimes it can be incredibly unnerving and throw your balance off a bit, because you’re trying to reconcile how you feel about yourself with how the rest of the world perceives you.

ewebean:

adrnired:

debbieneedstostrut:

what is the MAGIC

it’s called mochi!

it’s like ice cream in a soft skin!

also, it’s fucking amazing!

This is もちアイス (mochiaisu) and the “soft skin” is pounded rice cake. The white stuff you see on the outside is powdered sugar so they won’t get sticky. It’s very delicious on a hot day and you can get these at the right self-serve frozen yogurt joints. Unfortunately North America sells one mochiaisu for a dollar and some cents whereas in Japan you can get these by the boxful in any supermarket.

(via saltedbubble)

Nothing helps me. Not what I have already done. it is done. Each time, you are a begineer. I want to give up, actually, but I don’t… it’s complicated. It all takes so much strength. I’m so fragile. It’s emotional. I get little sleep, you try to sleep, but you can’t. I’m thinking too much. It’s like my head is in the way. It seems simmple, but I make it so complicated. It gets worse when I am coming out of a work. There comes a point when I think “This is the last time. I am never going to do this again.” and afterwards, you think, “I should not stop now I should right away do a new piece.” I go to all the extremes, deep down. It’s so terrible, horrible, you go down, down, down but you can’t give up, because the dancers are always there and expect you to do something.

Quoted in Lawson, 2000, Pina Bausch

everyone is entitled to their own freedom of thought to believe if something is right/wrong, or good/bad or selfless/selfish or to even believe that there should be no binaries. but at the end of the day, if the world world or everyone thinks it is wrong, but you, alone, think it is right, then all i can say with great finality is “yup screw yourself and go have fun with your own freedom of thought”.

edit: 31/3 but then again, maybe i have not tried to be more compassionate, to understand the multifarious interpretations and perspectives. sometimes, i need to listen more. and then there are certain times where i feel that people take advantage of my disincentive, proclivity to not judge before I gather whatever I have. 

Her manner is shy, but casual and friendly, and her gamine face crinkles easily into an attractive, rather secret smile. She wore a simple black sweater and gray skirt; if she is a vain girl the only indication of it was her high-heeled shoes, which were of elegantly worked light gray leather. She speaks in a high-pitched but quiet voice and she clearly does not enjoy being interviewed or asked to articulate in a formal way what are, to her, natural assumptions about her writing. She is sincere and helpful, but questions that are pompous or elaborate, or about personal life, or that might be interpreted as challenging her work, are liable to elicit only a simple “oui” or “non,” or “je ne sais pas—je ne sais pas du tout”—and then an amused, disconcerting smile.

Francoise Sagan, The Art of Fiction No. 15 by The Paris Review

What erudite prose - give me a moment, while I revel in it. BRB