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suicide

SYLVIA PLATH ~ LONELINESS

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
monique

“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Alone
Emilio Longoni – 1900

VIRGINIA WOOLF ~ A REWARD FOR BOOKWURMS?

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
blog

“When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.”

Virginia Woolf

SYLVIA PLATH ~ I WANT…

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
blog

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”
― Sylvia Plath

SYLVIA PLATH ~ ON LONELINESS

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
blog

“God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship – but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.”
― Sylvia Plath

ANNA KARENINA ~ A STORY OF LOVE AND DESPAIR

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
garbo karenina

“Sometimes she did not know what she feared, what she desired: whether she feared or desired what had been or what would be, and precisely what she desired, she did not know.”
― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Photo: Greta Garbo, 1934


TERESA WILMS MONTT ~ “TO DIE, AFTER FEELING EVERYTHING AND BEING NOTHING…”

in Poetical Visions by
teresa-wilms01

TERESA WILMS MONTT  POET FROM CHILE (Viña del Mar, 1893 – París 1921): She was born in a wealthy family, daughter of Federico Guillermo Wilms Montt and Brieba, and his wife Luz Victoria Montt and Montt. Given the social context of that time, her primary instruction was given to her by governesses and particular teachers.
When Teresa turned 17, she got married with Gustavo Balmaceda Valdés. In the following years (1911 y 1913) she gave birth to her daughters, Elisa and Silvia Luz. Almost right after the wedding, the problems between Gustavo and Teresa started, mainly due to how much the husband felt aggravated by his wife’s personality, who frequently attended to literary gatherings, and followed the anarchist ideals, and free masonry. Gustavo reacted sheltering himself in the gambling and alcohol; Teresa, on her side, sheltered herself in her friend and Gustavo’s cousin, Vicente Balmaceda Zañartu (whom she will refer on the future at her diaries as Jean).
After numerous marital conflicts, moving from one city to another and letters from Vicente Balmaceda addressed to Teresa, Gustavo Balmaceda convened a family trial, which contaminated her confinement in the convent of Preciosa Sangre, which she entered on October 18th of 1915, and escaped from it on June of 1916 setting off for Buenos Aires, helped by Vicente Huidobro. During her stay in the convent, she started a journal, in which she wrote her feelings about the loss of her daughters, being separated from Vicente Balmaceda and the motivations for her first suicide attempt on March 29th, 1916.
In Buenos Aires, she contributed to Nosotros magazines, in which also did contributed Gabriela Mistral and Ángel Cruchaga Santa María, among others. She also published her first work “Inquietudes Sentimentales”, a collection of fifty poems with surrealistic threads, that enjoyed an amazing success among the intellectual circles of Buenos Aires society. the same happened to “Los Tres Cantos”, work that explored eroticism and spirituality.
Two years after this work and after traveling to Barcelona and New York, she came back to Buenos Aires and published “Cuentos para Hombres que Todavía son Niños”. In it she evoked her childhood and some vital experiences, in tales of great originality and fantasy. “En la Inquietud del Mármol” was published in Barcelona and constituted a lyric toned elegy, made of 35 fragments, which central leitmotif was death. Written on first person, she focused her interest on the mediating role of love between life and death.
She continued traveling across Europe, visiting London and Paris, but always being a resident of Madrid. In 1920 she was reunited with her daughters in Paris; but after they were separated she become gravely ill. In this crisis, she consumed a large dose of Barbital , and she died on December 24th 1921.

In the last pages of her diary, she wrote: “To die, after feeling everything and being nothing…”.

Source count of the Moon

VIRGINIA WOOLF ~ A FAREWELL

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
virginiaandleonard

“I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You  see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that- everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.”

Suicide note from Virginia Woolf for her husband Leonard Woolf

28 March 1941

On that day Virginia filled her pockets with stones and walked into the River Ouse.

OPHELIA ~ A TORMENTED SOUL

in Art & the Unconscious Mind/Passion Of Art by
Arthur_Hughes_-_Ophelia_(Second_Version)

Ophelia (second version) 1863

Arthur Hughes (1832-1915)

Ophelia in literature

Russian novelist Fyodor Dostojevski , in the first chapter of his 1880 masterpiece The Brothers Karamazov, described a capricious young woman who committed suicide by throwing herself off a steep cliff into a river, simply to imitate Shakespeare’s Ophelia. Dostoevsky concludes that “Even then, if the cliff, chosen and cherished from long ago, had not been so picturesque, if it had been merely a flat, prosaic bank, the suicide might not have taken place at all.” Dostoevksy also depicts the heroine Grushenka as Ophelia, binding the two through the words “Woe is me!” in the chapter entitled “The First Torment.”

VIRGINIA WOOLF ~ THE PASSION OF THE BRAIN

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
Virginia Woolf

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery – always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What’s this passion for?

Virginia Woolf

OBLIVION ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

in My own creations by
alfred kubin2

Being deserted, feeling all alone

There is just this huge emptiness

Looking for some kind of escape

When I let myself go I feel heavy

Deceiving myself in this way

Nothing really matters anymore

Feeling just a sense of lost

Despair has passed and there is a way out

Do not want to remember my past

Do not want to acknowledge my present

Nor do I have any desire for the future

I am in this timeless state of mind

There is only one thing I long for

Tears in my eyes, sliding down my cheek

More tears will follow, that for sure

Accompanied by my hysterical laughter

Feelings of fear are taking control

I want to run away from this all

Running away from the confusion

But I have no place left to go to

Walking in this city full of strangers

In this place that is no longer mine

Going no place special just from there to here

Decided to look for an exit

I realize that once I was happy here

Seeing all these places I remember

But I can’t find it back, my happiness

Because its time now to be all by myself

High buildings are surrounding me

I find myself entering the nearest door

Then going up, further up, as high as possible

This is where it will end, no more tears to cry

Memories are lost, they are taken by the wind

I close my eyes and feel a cold breeze

My thoughts start spinning, faster, faster

A dizziness takes control of my body

Now it is time, there is no escape anymore

How much pain can one feel inside

I relax and look down, how much more to bare

Adrenaline is rushing through my veins

I jump and set myself free…

Monique Lucy Weberink

2011

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