The truth is, we create our own purposes in this world. We think about and imagine in our minds what should be, what we should be dealing with and all that should be happening and existent to somehow lessen the already inextricable and unsolvable confusion of this puzzle we call ‘life’. We visualise our dreams, and how they could be possible to an extent that they’d feel real. We build houses where we store every last bit of courage and confidence that we have, construct buildings filled with our hopes and passions, and fabricate towers and skyscrapers where our faith and sanity lurk on the apex until some brilliant something or massive nothing comes and happens. We compose the lyrics of our own music, write the words of our own stories, sketch our own portraits, develop the films of our own pictures, mold our own perceptions, form our own illustration and view of the panorama.
Everything is real and fictive until they’re not. We are the truth and lies; fantasy and reality are us.
"Happiness is a precarious feeling." — Andre’u Dareen (via unleash-da-beast)
So beautiful beyond words.
L’INHUMAINE (Marcel L’Herbier, France, 1924)
Artist: unknown
Poster source: JonathanRosenbaum.com
Happy birthday Marin Sais (August 2, 1890 - December 31, 1971)
Shown above (top right, along with co-star Ollie Kirby*, lower left) in an ad for The Social Pirates (1916), a serial in which “two women finally tire of being taken advantage of by men, and vow that they will stop these cads from preying on helpless young girls” (IMDb). That’s the struggle of the ages!
*(Ollie Kirby was sometimes billed as “Ollie Kirkby,” “Ollie Kirke,” or “Olive Kirby”)
"I turned her so I could see her face when I kissed her and I saw that her eyes were shut. I kissed both her shut eyes. I thought she was probably a little crazy. It was all right if she was. I did not care what I was getting into. This was better than going every evening to the house for officers where the girls climbed all over you and put your cap on backwards as a sign of affection between their trips upstairs with brother officers. I knew I did not love Catherine Barkley nor had any idea of loving her. This was a game, like bridge, in which you said things instead of playing cards. Like bridge you had to pretend you were playing for money or playing for some stakes. Nobody had mentioned what the stakes were. It was all right with me." — A Farewell To Arms, Ernest Hemingway (via jinthehuman)
Former tumbler chaplininpictures great new blog!
