-feel something-

[luthienne]

I feel too fiercely to write, even to talk. It is no good to be alone either; though one makes no noise the screaming is all there.

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters of Martha Gellhorn (via luthienne)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

The amount of quiet I need does not exist in the world, from which it follows that no one ought to need so much quiet.

Franz Kafka, from Letters to Ottla and the Family (1909 - 1924)

[noli-timere-deactivated20190714]

She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.

Donna Tartt, from The Secret History (via cindersandsmoke)

[quotemadness]

What if everyone got what they wanted? What then?

Neil Gaiman (via quotemadness)

[thelovejournals]

I had asked him many times why he stayed, and he always said the same thing: ‘Because I love you, and I wanted to, and I knew you were in there.’ No matter how damaged I had been, he had loved me enough to still see me somewhere inside.

Susannah Cahalan, Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness (via thelovejournals)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

The pain, the beauty: equally acute, equally transfixing.

Anna Akhmatova, from a journal entry featured in The Akhmatova Journals: 1938 - 1941 (via afroui)

[moonflock]

Father says / to cut the meat & release its ghosts / mother says / to trade yourself / for a girl / who thinks meat is making / a comeback. some days I shut / myself up in a drawer / eat lipstick and play dead / feed on silence and other types of flesh / sometimes I love a god / and sometimes I love flowers / I pinch my lust like a petal / I solve my hunger / by screaming into a stranger’s mouth / there is no death / as brutal as birth / the way some wild animals / eat their own children / reminds me of ritual / of knowing that a housefire / is on the other end / of this phone call / and picking up anyway /

Kristin Chang, Saga (via moonflock)

[in-theembers]

And then what do you do? You climb into dirty sheets and your mouth tastes like vodka and someone you don’t remember kissing and you tell yourself that there’s always tomorrow but what if there wasn’t? Isn’t? How many mistakes can you make How many different types of messed up can you be Before the slate is still dirty in the morning? How many wrong numbers does it take? When does a bad day become a bad week become a bad year become this is your life, now; and today becomes tomorrow becomes the same foggy eyed smudged mirror you’re always looking into? And they ask you, they ask “What are you so afraid of?” And somehow it’s always that You can’t kill the doubt without killing yourself.

23, part 1, Elizabeth McNamara (via in-theembers)

[wordsnquotes]

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, like the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?

Mary Oliver (via wordsnquotes)

[wnq-writers]

How foolish I was to believe that we could remain friends. How foolish I was to believe that the deceit would ever end.

w0rds0npages,

I finally see the real you

(via wnq-writers)

[wnq-writers]

Them hurting you was not your fault. Yes, you placed your heart in their hands, but you never told them to drop it.

Maxwell Diawuoh (via wnq-writers)

[absentia-deactivated20111017-de]

[naturaekos]

“I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word.”

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden Of Eden (via naturaekos)

[thecynical-idealist]

The moon exists for the sad ones  and the poets.

The Cynical Idealist (via thecynical-idealist)

[quotemadness]

Something had caught fire within me, a purpose had revealed itself.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky (via quotemadness)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

I dreamt of you last night—as if I was playing the piano and you were turning the pages for me.

Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to Véra Nabokov, 12 January 1924, Letters to Véra, ed. and transl. Olga Voronina and Brian Boyd (Alfred A. Knopf, 2014)

[vital-dust]

Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.

William Blake (via loveage-moondream)