“Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we’re still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It’s all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?”—Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin (via everybodycares)
I say this at the risk of sounding self-obsessed: Out of all of the Beatles songs, this is one of my very favorites, and absolutely my favorite namesake Beatles song. It’s so painfully lovely, so melancholy. Even from a very young age (I vaguely remember listening to this song at the age of three) I understood how beautiful, albeit sad, the song is. The lyrics, melody and tone of the song are all simple, yet somehow combines into something that makes you ache. Although ostensibly a song created for the intention of wooing, the love itself appears to be lost, hopeless.
“Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.”—Henry Miller (via everybodycares)