Smother - Daughter


She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.
Joanne Harris (via still-dreaming)

(via ghostheart)


We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.
W. Somerset Maugham (via hellanne)

(via lovebot)



Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.
Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

(Source: crimson-arms, via heliophobus)


I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.
Anaïs Nin

(via loveyourchaos)


Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat any time.
Hermann Hesse

(Source: travisjacob, via loveyourchaos)


And she hugged me. And I closed my eyes because I wanted to know nothing but her arms.
Stephen Chboksy (via onethousandstrangers)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via theblankpage)


The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.
John Pierpont (via kari-shma)

(via quote-book)



this moment is the exact definition of perfection; i don’t know anything more intense and beautiful than two people, madly wanting each other but still restraining themselves because the tension is too flawless to be broken.

this moment is the exact definition of perfection; i don’t know anything more intense and beautiful than two people, madly wanting each other but still restraining themselves because the tension is too flawless to be broken.

(Source: makestories, via hellyeah-yolo)


The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden

(Source: bookmania)


I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
but now I want a Russian novel,
a 50-page description of you sleeping.
Dean Young (via forestmilk)

(Source: forestmilk, via commovente)


Poetry is a naked woman, a naked man, and the distance between them.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Poetry as Insurgent Art (via 4mbivalent)

(via ariellejuanito)


And you’ll always love me won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And the rain won’t make any difference?”
“No.
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

(Source: beautyisanillusion, via scout)


Great, real, true love should feel like an inside joke that only you and them can laugh at. No matter what the world does to either of you.


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