[i-will-talk-fish]

“…enough of can you see me, can you hear me, enough I am human, enough I am alone and I am desperate, enough of the animal saving me, enough of the high water, enough sorrow, enough of the air and its ease, I am asking you to touch me.”

— from “The End of Poetry” in The Hurting Kind: Poems by Ada Limón, p. 95 (via revmeg)

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

Which of my feelings are real? Which of the me's is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither.

Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

[hypomanicpanic]

“I wept for the poignancy of all the intensity I had lost without knowing it, and I wept for the pleasure of experiencing it again.”

— Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

[seaymph]

“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.”

— Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych (via purplebuddhaproject)

[derangedrhythms]

In many ways, I was a stranger to the normal world.

Kay Redfield Jamison, from 'An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness'

[urmyfuckingheadache]

me: I wish I could just let things go

me: *detaches myself from reality so much that I become unable to feel any genuine emotion whatsoever*

me: god dammit

[paper-fairy]

“We were dreamers, both of us, unpractical, reserved, full of great theories never put to test, and like all dreamers, asleep to the waking world.”

— Daphne du Maurier, My Cousin Rachel, 1951 

[feral-ballad]

You know, (…) we’ve got a bond in common, you and I. We are both alone in the world.

Daphne Du Maurier, from Rebecca

[howifeltabouthim]

I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. I was angrier than I'd ever been in my life. I felt sick with it.

Caro Claire Burke, from Yesteryear

[hymnfell]

[mournfulroses]

Olivia Tapiero, from her book titled "Nothing At All," originally published in January 2026

[nixscriptum]

[lifeinpoetry]

“I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.”

— Trista Mateer, from “For the One Who Loved My Hands More than Anything Else,” The Dogs I Have Kissed

[mournfulroses]

Edgar Allan Poe, from a poem featured in "Poetry and Selected Tales of Edgar Allan Poe,"

[mournfulroses]

Charles Baudelaire, from a poem featured in "Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud: Selected Verse and Prose Poems,"

[shisasan]

April 17, 1928 Journals of Anais Nin 1927-1931  [volume 4]

[undinesea]

These are my sanctuaries: music that stirs, nature that heals, poetry that whispers, and solitude that understands.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to poet Boris Pasternak