[icaseybaybee]

[larmoyante]

“If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that—warm things, kind things, sweet things.”

— Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Little Princess

[shisasan]

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

[achillesinhighheels]

[lifeinpoetry]

I wanted to be something else. Myself, but better. Wild, and not-yet, a burn, maybe as it is occurring.

— Cynthia Cruz, from “Fragment,” Hotel Oblivion

[l1amaani]

slow down and appreciate the blessings around you

[hairstylesbeauty]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Don’t be afraid anymore. Not of anyone. Not of anything. Nothing. Ever again. Listen to me: not ever again.”

— Marguerite Duras, from The North China Lover: A Novel

[ihadmysightsetonyourightaway]

suddenly i don't want anyone to know me as deeply anymore, which is weird because i always yearned for someone to understand my soul.

[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anais Nin 1914-1920

[aaaangel444]

[07121998]

[patronsaintofweepingmothers]

2006

[violentwavesofemotion]

“…how I still, sometimes, crave understanding.”

— Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings (via violentwavesofemotion)

[scorpionlafemme]

Every version of you was necessary. Even the ones you’re ashamed of.

[sahlesummerhill]

[lhzthepoet]

“I remember you. You were made of light.”

— Maria Eugenia Calderara, from Poems of Exile; “I Still Don’t Know Your Name,” (via violentwavesofemotion)