Angela † Marie
† Ars Longa Vita Brevis †
Writer. Human. Lover of beauty. Los Angeles. Instagram: angelamarie2727


"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."



"Writers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your brains."



A Diary Entry:

A Lesson I learned: 


     Sometimes you may think you’re really  open to love & advice when really— you aren’t. What you may see as being open is really just you viciously trying to pry a sealed & locked door. 

       You’re sort of right… your heart is open to it— otherwise you wouldn’t try so hard to defeat the door’s reluctance.

       But just like the door, your heart is sealed & locked by all the oil paints you’re slopped on to it without allowing each layer to dry. You need the knife to scrape the cement gluing the door and the oil from your would-be masterpiece. You need the right key for both of their intricate locks.

       Once you are through with these tedious tasks, you’ll be able to hear numerous medleys of leaves swaying— each whispering the possibilities that lay before you in all walks of life. 

~I know this personally


       I have only completed part of that tedious task… but I can already hear one tree singing louder than the others. It’s just a glimmer of the medley… — Each leaf sings a different part of me… I must listen to each verse composing the story to each of my little issues. It’s sparked inspiration and I have finally defeated writer’s block. Each branch of the tune I’m hearing is a new poem for me to write. When I’m done with each leaf, a gust of wind sweeps by & I’m relaxed enough to listen to the next one, the next suggestion— to feel the next smile, the next kiss, the next laugh… 

      Not only did the chipping of oils & cement accompanied by the right key bring me home to my first love of writing and to myself, but it also pointed me home to the love of my amazing fiance…. It was he who gave me the strength I needed for this task & it was he who heard the medleys for me, composed them and showed them to me through our conversations and his heart

May 17th, 2013


  -  17 May

  -  16 May
"Who gives a fuck about your first love. Give a big round of applause for your second love, because they taught you love still exists after you thought it never could again."




brideofquietness:

 ”But I always told myself that everyone — at least everyone fascinating — had a few scars

-Special Topics in Calamity Physics, Marisha Pessl 


"Poetry is not a silent art. The poem must perform, unaided, in its reader’s head."



"Ideas? My head is full of them, one after the other, but they serve no purpose there. They must be put down on paper, one after the other."



install theme