Expectations is the root of all heartache.
You can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly.
- (via efidelity)

(Source: sincerelynargis, via coello)


Corfou Island, Greece | by massonth


Corfou Island, Greece | by massonth

Love, you poison my typewriter. How can I write with every key screaming? Since you left, I’ve had hangovers they could name battleships after. Today I remember the heat of your naked skin.
- Ernest Hemingway in a letter to Martha Gellhorn, Hemingway & Gellhorn (via unbearablysharp)

(via word-digest)

Nature … is a friend you will never lose until death—and even when you die, you disappear into nature.
It’s easy for someone to joke about scars if they’ve never been cut.
- William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet: Act 2, Scene 2 (via perfect)

(Source: mourningmelody, via perfect)

Each of us needs something of an island in his life—if not an actual island, at least some place, or space in time, in which to be himself, free to cultivate his differences from others.
- John Keats, Of Time and an Island (via perfect)

(Source: larmoyante, via perfect)

I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t.

- Khaled Hosseini (via anditslove)

(Source: larmoyante, via qomaspeakup)

I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say but to watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of ‘living a lie’. I came to believe that other people - even when you think you know them well - are ultimately unknowable.

Lynn Barber
(via psych-facts)

And how terrifying is that…

(via feroce-mais-doux)

(via qomaspeakup)

I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.
- Women - Charles Bukowski (via henrycharlesbukowski)

(via word-digest)

You remind me
of the parts of myself
that I will never
have a chance
to meet.
her beauty is an abnormality, a deformity, for none of her features exhibit any of those touching imperfections that reconcile us to the imperfection of the human condition. her beauty is a symptom of her disorder, of her soullessness.
- The Lady of the House of Love, The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter. (via beryl-azure)

(via word-digest)

It’s not enough to say the heart wants what it wants. I think of the ravine, the side dark with pines where we lounged through summer days, waiting for something to happen; and of the nights, walking the long way home, the stars so close they seemed to crown us. Once, I asked for your favorite feeling. You said hunger. It felt true then. It was as if we took the bit and bridle from our mouths. From that moment I told myself it was the not yet that I wanted, the moving, the toward—
- Mary Szybist, from “To Gabriela at the Donkey Sanctuary,” in Incarnadine: Poems (Graywolf Press, 2013)

(Source: apoetreflects, via takeachanceonfate)

“It was like this: the brain could no longer bear the worries and pains that were imposed on it.
It said: “I’m giving up; but if there is anyone else here who is interested in preserving the whole, let him assume part of my burden and it will be alright for a bit.”
- Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena (via perfect)

(Source: asimetricna-vagina, via perfect)

What we read and why we do so defines us in a profound way. You are what you read, I suppose. Browsing through someone’s library is like peeking into their DNA.
- Guillermo del Toro, Introduction to The Best American Nonrequired Reading (via larmoyante)

Spirit Island  |  Johannes Berger
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