Natsuo Kirino, Real World
March 24th, 2013
February 9th, 2013
I am trying to expose a secret told to nobody yet; I am asking you (as I stand with my back to you) to take my life in your hands and tell me whether I am doomed always to cause repulsion in those I love?
Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via honeysighs)
(via moonii)
December 26th, 2012
Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.
Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept (via wakingslumber)
(Source: 1k84, via lovelycurious)
December 10th, 2012
You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.
Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless (via larmoyante)
(Source: larmoyante)
November 26th, 2012
There’s always a moment when you start to fall out of love, whether it’s with a person or an idea or a cause, even if it’s one you only narrate to yourself years after the event: a tiny thing, a wrong word, a false note, which means that things can never be quite the same again.
Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt (via creatingaquietmind)
November 23rd, 2012
When I am lonely for boys it’s their bodies I miss. I study their hands lifting the cigarettes in the darkness of the movie theaters, the slope of a shoulder, the angle of a hip. Looking at them sideways, I examine them in different lights. My love for them is visual: that is the part of them I would like to possess. Don’t move, I think. Stay like that, let me have that.
Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye (via pavorst)
October 10th, 2012
I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside.
Francesca Lia Block (via wordsthat-speak)
(via wordsthat-speak)
It’s quite an undertaking to start loving somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment right at the start where you have to jump across an abyss: if you think about it you don’t do it.
Jean Paul Sartre - Nausea (via likeafieldmouse)
(Source: kendrabrain, via ache)
September 24th, 2012
Overnight everyone has grown up. While she was becoming, everyone grew up and became.
Zadie Smith in “NW” (via britticisms)
September 3rd, 2012
Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.
Vladimir Nabokov, Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle (via wuthering-heights)
(Source: chyertimaiden, via wuthering-heights)
