August 2011
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I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.
– Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games
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But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque and...
– The Great Gatsby (via mirroir)
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She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite...
– Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer
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I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in...
– Suzanne Collins (via slysympathy)
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‘Don’t ask me anything about the future,’ he said miserably. ‘I don’t know...
– D.H. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers (via littleampersand)
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Taped to the cockpit wall is a photograph,
a piece of Sunday afternoon,
a...
– John Tranter, from “The Plane” (via weissewiese)
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All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone...
– Ralph Ellison (via atomos)
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stardust-reverie:
Do you know these whiles when you just feel that you are alive? You walk upon the quiet ground, you catch your breathe. It’s when you dance, laugh and sing along with Joni Mitchell’s songs. It’s when you fall in love and all the words to describe the beauty and heaviness of your heart suddenly fail you. It’s when you are not ashamed to cry. It’s when you embrace the trees. it’s...
Anonymous asked: your into mermaid?
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Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.
– Hans Christian Anderson (via iaiao)
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The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes...
– Leo F. Buscaglia
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I wish I could sing without making ears bleed. I really do.
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I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain;...
– Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via shagtap)
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You know,” he said, “this is why I love you so much.” Her tone was...
– J. R. Ward
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I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud...
– Khalled Hosseini (via atomos)
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Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there’s...
– Bob Dylan (via halus)
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For pain words are lacking. There should be cries, cracks, fissures, whiteness...
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves
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The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right...
– J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
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