Clarkson Malaysia
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“ Nothing happens in which you are not entangled in a secret manner; for everything has ordered itself around you and plays your innermost. Nothing in you is hidden to things, no matter how remote, how precious, how secret it is. It inheres in things. Your dog robs you of your father, who passed away long ago, and looks at you as he did. The cow in the meadow has intuited your mother, and charms you with total calm and security. The stars whisper your deepest mysteries to you, and the soft valleys of the earth rescue you in a motherly womb.
Like a stray child you stand pitifully among the mighty, who hold the threads of your life. You cry for help and attach yourself to the first person that comes your way. Perhaps he can advise you, perhaps he knows the thought that you do not have, and which all things have sucked out of you.
”— C.G. Jung, The Red Book, Liber Secondus 27/280 Comments -
Great illustrations of birds in nautical uniform by Japanese illustrator, Sato.
Cannot not repost this.
(via alysserlyn)
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Color doodles I’m noodling over for a side-project. Made in Illustrator.
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“The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.”— Hafiz, Sufi poet from the 14th C.10 Comments -
“A certain M. Deschamps, when a boy in Orleans, was once given a piece of plum-pudding by a M. de Fortgibu. Ten years later he discovered another plum-pudding in a Paris restaurant, and asked if he could have a piece. It turned out, however, that the plum-pudding was already ordered - by M. de Fortgibu. Many years afterwards M. Deschamps was invited to partake of a plum-pudding as a special rarity. While he was eating it he remarked that the only thing lacking was M. de Fortgibu. At that moment the door opened and an old, old, man in the last stages of disorientation walked in: M. de Fortgibu, who had got hold of the wrong address and burst in on the party by mistake.” — Camille Flammarion, The Unknown, by way of C.G. Jung, Synchronicity4 Comments -
A poem by Ricarda Huch (1864-1947)
As the earth, separating from the sun,
Withdraws in quick flight into the stormy night,
Starring the naked body with cold snow,
Deafened, it takes away the summer joy.
And sinking deeper in the shadows of winter,
Suddenly draws close to that which it flees,
Sees itself warmly embraced with rosy light
Leaning against the lost consort.
Thus I went, suffering the punishment of exile,
Away from your countenance, into the ancient place.
Unprotected, turning to the desolate north,
Always retreating deeper into the sleep of death;
And then would I awake on your heart,
Blinded by the splendor of the dawn.0 Comments -
“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” — Albert Camus3 Comments -
“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.” — Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House3 Comments -
What an adorable little urchin.
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“We are what we pretend to be so we must be careful what we pretend to be.” — Kurt Vonnegut4 Comments
