Katarina Du Pont

It is sometimes necessary to do some bad to achieve a much greater good. But here is the problem: some evils can't be justified, no matter what good they do.

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“Love does not happen without loss of vital self.”

— Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay; Logic at the Edge, Anne Carson

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

A girl just like her, but born of the sea. Fire in her eyes,

Nikita Gill, from “Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths & Monsters,” (via aryasnow)

[mournfulroses]

“You cannot speak to anyone, because the world is empty of the living and filled with the dead,”

— Mahmoud Darwish, tr. by Sinan Antoon, from “In The Presence of Absence,”

[nevver]

Maps to the Stars, Alison Rossiter

[weltenwellen]

“The first time I saw her, everything in my head went quiet.”

— Neil Hilborn, from Our Numbered Days 

[willingtobe]

It’s Ok That You’re Not Ok, Megan Devine

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from “To The Lighthouse,” originally publ. c. 1927

[mournfulroses]

“The only paradise we know through our senses and intuition is that of the beloved, and the only hell, disappointment in love.”

— Mahmoud Darwish, tr. by Sinan Antoon, from “In The Presence of Absence,”

[igmakeup]

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“Sometimes a reckoning comes of all the lives we have lost, and sometimes we take it upon ourselves to burn them to ashes.”

H is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“More and more I feel like a letter — deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one.”

— The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

[weltenwellen]

Amir Levine & Rachel Heller, Attached

[balmest]

alexlysko via instagram

[weltenwellen]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Sholeh Wolpé, from “On Loving”, Sin

[qvotext]

“All the bright, precious things fade so fast. And they don’t come back.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald; The Great Gatsby

[bloom-alana-archive]

sarah gadon in black bear 

[qvotext]

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

Franz Kafka; The Metamorphosis (via qvotext)