sirsquiggyfluffybutt asked: The best you can do is to keep moving love. I know where you're coming from. I'm seen as the local "psychologist" among all my friends, and I've heard it all. Lost loves, abuse, neglect from society as a whole, etc etc. It's hard to just keep moving, but it's the best anyone can do. To show just exactly what you're capable of, and from what I've seen...
The only people for me are the mad ones. The ones who are mad to live, mad to...– Jack Kerouac - On the Road (via alecshao)
swanmaiden replied to your post: What’s bothering you? You are my doppelganger, you have summed up how I’ve felt. It’s incredible(y sad). It is, love. I suggest eating some icecream or drinking chamomile tea to make things better. Always the little things…
Anonymous asked: What's bothering you?
It’s already been a week and I’m still only halfway through Mrs. Dalloway. Virginia Woolf’s novels are so hard to read— or maybe that’s just me being stupid again.
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When I am most deeply rooted, I feel the wildest desire to uproot myself.– Anaïs Nin (Henry & June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin)
I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud...– Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner (via pavorst)
Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to...– Michael Cunningham, The Hours (via horasmortas)
from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge The main thing was to be living. That was the main thing. Everyone stands waiting, shoulders tensed, faces drawn in around their eyes for the terrible crash. That is how the silence is here. There are people who wear the same face for years on end; naturally it shows signs of wear, it gets dirty, it cracks at the creases, it splays out like gloves...
I wish I were a poet. I’ve never confessed that to anyone, and I’m confessing it...– Jonathan Safran Foer
You either like me or you don’t. It took me twenty-something years to learn how...– Daniel Franzese
Five hundred books and a ball point pen. Raindrops too, splattering against the window and disappearing to be replaced again. The faint sound of the television, news about a family massacred by the father holding a loaded gun on channel 2. The famous Vonnegut quote, so it goes, in my mind. Where’s my notebook when my hand reaches for it? I need to write. About the strong urge to destroy my...
Maybe there’s a trapdoor in my chair, and I’ll just disappear.– J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey
But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together. I know that the...– Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms (via word-digest)
And then offhandedly, she asked me why she felt so numb. How the glass shards impaled her and she couldn’t feel a thing. The betrayal didn’t sting as much anymore. She held the mug in her trembling fingers and murmured, “None of this is physical, of course, you understand? It’s something deeper. The pain is a growing, living being, dwelling inside but I’ve grown used...
He doesn’t understand how it stopped, or why it stopped. He wouldn’t dare try to...– R.A. Casilao: At Sea