I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I’ve sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.
I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.
C. Bukowski (via semisecrets)
(via athousandbutterflies)
We are two abysses — A well staring at the sky.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via clavicola)
(Source: commovente)
Lia Ices / Daphne
A beautiful duet featuring Justin Vernon from Bon Iver.
I really love this song.
(via aphrontistery)
The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.
I Wrote This for You (via fleurishes)
(via commovente)
I’ll tell everything to you alone, because it’s necessary, because you’re necessary, because tomorrow I’ll fall from the clouds, because tomorrow life will end and begin.
Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via leopoldgursky)
Nothing in the world is permanent, and we’re foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we’re still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it
W. Somerset Maugham (via theprincessleah)
(Source: escapethlabyrinth, via quote-book)
I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.
Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to Elizabeth, Countess Russell, 16 October 1921 (via katherine-mansfield)
(via awritersruminations)
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
Robert Frost (via wolf-teeth)
(via loveyourchaos)
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (via holdenandcaulfield)
(Source: carouselinparis, via ryannjoy)
