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No one feels another’s grief, no one understands another’s joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality, they only pass each other by.

— Franz Schubert (via penseesduchoeur)
3364 ♥ / 30 January, 2013

A little disaster helps, tiny as
the heartstop I
put after your eye
when it stammers my name.

— Paul Celan, from Glottal Stop, trans. Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh (via proustitute)
169 ♥ / 5 December, 2012

I no longer need you to fuck me as hard
as I hate myself.

Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this

— Buddy Wakefield (via bethanyblessing)
127 ♥ / 3 December, 2012

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of witnesses.

— Margaret Millar (via villaintine)
45 ♥ / 25 November, 2012

That night as I lay in bed, I thought of several things I could have said and mourned the fact that my wit usually bloomed late, peaking when it no longer mattered, during the solitary hours close to midnight.

— Siri Hustvedt, The Blindfold (via penseesduchoeur)
677 ♥ / 22 November, 2012

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.

— Andrew Wyeth (via ancient-serpent)
7534 ♥ / 22 November, 2012

Sometimes for an artist the only difference between genius and insanity, is success.

— Reed (Criminal Minds)
53 ♥ / 22 November, 2012

Letting go means to come to the realization that some people are a part of your history, but not a part of your destiny.

— Steve Maraboli (via winosays)
6817 ♥ / 5 November, 2012

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings — always darker, emptier, simpler.

— Nietzsche (via revolvver)
136 ♥ / 24 September, 2012

halus:

“He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.”

— Richard Siken, Anyway

8278 ♥ / 5 September, 2012

I kissed him passionately, I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me.

— Françoise Sagan, Bonjour Tristesse (via odetofemininity)
21775 ♥ / 26 August, 2012

But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.

— Aldous Huxley, Brave New World  (via absea)
9829 ♥ / 26 August, 2012

The very essence of romance is uncertainty.

— Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays (via summiting)
637 ♥ / 12 August, 2012

I just do art because I’m ugly and there’s nothing else for me to do.

— Andy Warhol (via erikangstrom)
425 ♥ / 12 August, 2012

Scotch is for people who have given up hope.

— Norman Mailer (via penseesduchoeur)
520 ♥ / 5 August, 2012
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