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“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”
— John Banville
Odysseus Elytis, tr. by Athan Anagnostopoulos, from “Maria Nephele: A Poem In Two,”
Sometimes I think I was put into this world to be whatever the people around me need, to give and to love selflessly, because I don’t know who I am and that’s the only time I feel like I’m doing something of real worth.
“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because romantic doesn’t mean sugary. It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.”
— Catherine Breillat
“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
never let anyone tell u how many commas can go in a sentence, u measure that shit with ur heart
I’m in love with Kerouac’s America
Ode to Buried Love
There is beauty in buried love—
tenderly wrenching.
The subtle and soft carry so much more power,
and every touch is a stolen blessing.
No moment is taken for granted;
we are present.
Every look: a confession
to be churned over and over,
while we waltz with desire
never hastily.
We are ravenous for a love so blatantly before us but we don’t dare to indulge.
Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap
So we make beauty with the withstraint and we call it discipline.
We are the dreamers, with romantic visions of the world, of our lives, our future careers, our lovers—some far off descendant of peter pan—but our bloodlines have meandered.
We spend more time fantasizing our worst case scenarios than the epitome of everything we could possibly dream up, with dreams so grand we bathe in guilt of the very thought.
Thus, we are the dreamers who shackle ourselves to mediocrity for we fear the abyss of a dream.
Sandra Cisneros, from My Wicked Wicked Ways: Poems; “One Last Poem for Richard,” (x)
India K (tumblr)
The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (via apokalypse-wow)