[metamorphesque]

― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

[playburo]

Wylee Risso

[julykings]

from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos. 

[metamorphesque]

― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (Book 1)

[text ID: A state of chronic powerlessness eats away at a person.]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“My memories don’t feel as though they’ve been pulled up by the root. Even if they fade, something remains. Like tiny seeds that might germinate again if the rain falls. And even if a memory disappears completely, the heart retains something. A slight tremor or pain, some bit of joy, a tear.”

— Yōko Ogawa, from The Memory Police, transl. Stephen Snyder (Pantheon, 2019)

[weltenwellen]

Louise Glück, Poems 1962-2012

[stlowens]

Louise Glück, from “Twilight.”

[werenotreallystrangers]

[linkinmoon]

Anaïs Nin, The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin

[geryone]

Headless John The Baptist Hitchhiking, C.T. Salazar

[asoftwrongness]

instagram | prints

[lovecrumbss]

affection🖤• Henri De Toulouse-Lautrec • Marc Chagall • Milt Kobayashi • Malcolm T. Liepke • Egon Schiele • Nickie Zimov • Joseph Lorusso • Peter Wever • Gustav Klimt • Rocio Montoya •

[bookofjudith]

there’s nobody better than you.

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart, Mitski // Penitent Magdalene, Antonio Ciseri

[ly08882]

(más allá del universo, a través del océano, cuando sea y donde sea que digas mi nombre) wjsn chocome - super yuppers

https://www.instagram.com/naendi__/

[blazeberg]

“I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness.”

– Anaïs Nin

[thoughtkick]

“You have this one life. How do you wanna spend it? Apologizing? Regretting? Questioning? Hating yourself? Dieting? Running after people who don’t see you? Be brave. Believe in yourself. Do what feels good. Take risks. You have this one life. Make yourself proud.”

— Beardsley Jones

[soracities]

“Nothing is ever as beautiful as the first isolated moments with someone who might be able to love you — with someone you yourself might be able to love. There is nothing as silent as these minutes, nothing so saturated with sweet anticipation. It is for these few minutes that we love, not for the many that follow. Never again, they realize, would anything so beautiful ever happen to them. They might be happier, more impassioned, too, and infinitely satiated with their own bodies and with each other’s. But never again would it be so beautiful.”

— Stig Dagerman, A Moth to a Flame (Burnt Child) (trans. Benjamin Mier-Cruz)