a young Bill Clinton meeting JFK 
"You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.
So many live on and want nothing
And are raised to the rank of prince
By the slippery ease of their light judgments
But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.
You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.
You have not grown old, and it is not too late
To dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret."

Rainer Maria Rilke

nevver:

Maya Angelou
"

I remember, in the week
of the dogwoods, why sometimes
we give up everything
for beauty, lose our sense
and our senses, as we do now
for these blossoms, sprinkled
like salt through the dark woods.

And like the story of the pheasants
with salt on their tails
to tame them,
look how we are made helpless
by a brief explosion
of petals
one week in April.

"

— Linda Pastan

a version of this, everyday, for better or worse 
"My nights are for overthinking, my mornings are for oversleeping."

— Unknown (via black-cigar)

(Source: hedonistpoet, via rojospinks)

amospoe:

"It was a strange love story from the beginning. I could see Jean-Luc was looking at me all the time, and I was looking at him too, all day long.  We were like animals. One night we were at this dinner in Lausanne. My boyfriend, who was a painter, was there too. And suddenly I felt something under the table – it was Jean-Luc’s hand. He gave me a piece of paper and then left to drive back to Geneva. I went into another room to see what he’d written.  It said, “I love you.  Rendezvous at midnight at the Café de la Prez.” And then my boyfriend came into the room and demanded to see the piece of paper, and he took my arm and grabbed it and read it.  He said, “You’re not going.” And I said, “I am.” And he said, “But you can’t do this to me.”  I said, “But I’m in love too, so I’m going.” But he still didn’t believe me. We drove back to Geneva and I started to pack my tiny suitcase.  He said, “Tell me you’re not going.” And I said, “I’ve been in love with him since I saw him the second time. And I can’t do anything about it.” It was like something electric. I walked there, and I remember my painter was running after me crying. I was, like, hypnotized – it never happened again to me in my life."
- Anna Karina
"

It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.

I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig.
Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me.
When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic.
No rhetoric, no tremolos,
no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell.
And of course, no theology, no metaphysics.
Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.

So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,
trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair.
That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly my darling,
on tiptoes and no luggage,
not even a sponge bag,
completely unencumbered.

"

Aldous HuxleyIsland

(Source: thepicnicbasket)

Lupita Nyong’o x Terry Richardson
The international jury of the 57th annual World Press Photo Contest has selected an image by American photographer John Stanmeyer of the VII Photo Agency as the World Press Photo of the Year 2013. 
The picture shows African migrants on the shore of Djibouti city at night, raising their phones in an attempt to capture an inexpensive signal from neighboring Somalia—a tenuous link to relatives abroad. Djibouti is a common stop-off point for migrants in transit from such countries as Somalia, Ethiopia and Eritrea, seeking a better life in Europe and the Middle East. 
"I attempt, instead, to speak for myself, and to explain just how much it pains me when I have that momentary twitch of concern when a female friend leaves a party one or two hours before the rest of us, and how I now feel uncomfortable watching Woody Allen movies, and these things are not the same but they speak to a certain invisible climate that seems not to have budged much."

I wrote about Woody Allen for the Medium, and why it’s important not to separate the art from the artist.

This topic is obviously very complex, and for many is more layered that a single person’s opinion, but that’s all I can offer, so take this for what you will. All I know is that art does not exist in a vacuum—it changes when the context changes—and when it comes to support, we repeatedly owe women more than we give.