Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist 
There are often beams in our eye that we know not of. Let us therefore ask that our eye may become single, for then we ourselves shall become wholly single.
Vincent van Gogh, The Letters Vincent van Gogh
We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.
  Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading.
William Styron


Van Gogh’s Bad Cafe by Frederic Tuten

This is a gem I found at The Last Bookstore for only $1! I started reading it when I got home and was instantly hooked. Upon searching Goodreads, I saw this book only had 60 ratings so I thought I would try to spread the word. 

This obscure and independent book deserves more readers. The prose is absolutely beautiful and is likened to an intricate Van Gogh’s painting. There is even some beautiful art at the beginning of each chapter. And the story of Van Gogh, his lover, and his lover’s lover is mixed in with a little bit of time travel and the world of drug addicted artists. 

Although not in the mainstream, this book deserves much more credit. So if you love art, Van Gogh, or beautiful prose, be sure to give this a read! 

How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?
Ray Bradbury
You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?
Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
Jack Kerouac, On the Road
I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! — When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
There were moments when you saw the people you loved for who they really were, separate from the baggage of projection and shared histories. When you saw them with fresh eyes, as a stranger might, and caught the feeling of the first time you loved them. Before the tears and the armor chinks. When there was still the possibility of perfection.
Blake Crouch, Pines