awritersruminations:

Diary entry of Roland Barthes  
It reads:

Struck by the abstract nature of absence; yet it’s so painful, lacerating. Which allows me to understand abstraction somewhat better: it is absence and pain, the pain of absence—perhaps therefore love?

After his mother died, Barthes grappled with the complexities of grief, loss, and mourning by writing fragments on more than 300 index cards. The cards were eventually published as Mourning Diary.
(via Maud Newton)

awritersruminations:

Diary entry of Roland Barthes  

It reads:

Struck by the abstract nature of absence; yet it’s so painful, lacerating. Which allows me to understand abstraction somewhat better: it is absence and pain, the pain of absence—perhaps therefore love?

After his mother died, Barthes grappled with the complexities of grief, loss, and mourning by writing fragments on more than 300 index cards. The cards were eventually published as Mourning Diary.

(via Maud Newton)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“Am I in love? — Yes, since I’m waiting.” The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: “I am the one who waits.”
– Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse (via bookmania)

(via ohdelay)