Seigneur-terraces (French) Coffee shop dwellers who sit at tables a long time but spend little money.
Ya’arburnee (Arabic) This word is the hopeful declaration that you will die before someone you love deeply, because you cannot stand to live without them. Literally, may you bury me.
Schlimazel (Yiddish) Someone prone to bad luck. Yiddish distinguishes between the schlemiel and schlimazel, whose fates would probably be grouped under those of the klutz in other languages. The schlemiel is the traditional maladroit, who spills his coffee; the schlimazel is the one on whom it’s spilled.
Packesel (German) The packesel is the person who’s stuck carrying everyone else’s bags on a trip. Literally, a burro.
L’esprit de l’escalier (French) Literally, stairwell wit—a too-late retort thought of only after departure.
Hygge (Danish) Denmark’s mantra, hygge is the pleasant, genial, and intimate feeling associated with sitting around a fire in the winter with close friends.
Spesenritter (German) Literally, an expense knight. You’ve probably dined with a spesenritter before, the type who shows off by paying the bill on the company’s expense account.
Cavoli Riscaldati (Italian) The result of attempting to revive an unworkable relationship. Literally, reheated cabbage.
Bilita Mpash (Bantu) An amazing, pleasant dream. Not just a “good” dream; the opposite of a nightmare.
Litost (Czech) Milan Kundera described the emotion as “a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.”
Murr-ma (Waigman, language of Australia) To walk alongside the water while searching for something with your feet.
1865 born in Bristol, lives and works in Devon, UK
Death – a fact of life that is systematically repressed despite its crushing relevance to us all – is one of the great themes of art, and one that Damien Hirst returns of repeatedly. It underlies not only his sculptures of animals…
The fact that the majority of teenagers would rather listen to Justin Bieber or Taylor Momsen over Jimi Hendrix or Pink Floyd makes me want to fucking kill myself. Literally.
up next on MTV’s “White Girl Problems”: special snowflake and part-time tumblr user felicefawn is literally contemplating suicide over people having different music taste than her and thinks she is better than everybody else because she kinda sorta knows who jimi hendrix and pink floyd are
“I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”—Haruki Murakami (via habitualsomething)
“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”—Ray Bradbury (via owls-love-tea)