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If You Forget Me

by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

fifty-moons

e.e. cummings

heywasssuphello

My Dearest Allie. I couldn’t sleep last night because I know that it’s over between us. I’m not bitter anymore, because I know that what we had was real. And if in some distant place in the future we see each other in our new lives, I’ll smile at you with joy and remember our summer beneath the trees, learning from each other and growing in love. The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds, and that’s what you’ve given me. That’s what I hope to give you forever. I love you. I’ll be seeing you. Noah

The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks (via heywasssuphello)

#howdy

criseidentitaire

I love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly. I love you with a touch of distress: with need and urgency.

Simone De Beauvoir, Letters to Jean-Paul Sartre (via criseidentitaire)

muchtoomany

Who knows how to make love stay? 1. Tell love you are going to Junior’s Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay. 2. Tell love you want a memento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a mustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay. 3. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.

Still Life with Woodpecker (via muchtoomany)

thoughtsdetained

There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams – not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via thoughtsdetained)

hartfelt-moved

ICARUS by Bastille vs. THE FLIGHT OF ICARUS by Jacob Peter Growy

loumargi

George de Forest Brush - Orpheus

sorrynotsorrybi

Bi women aren’t secretly straight. Bi men aren’t secretly gay.

thequeer26

Let’s end biphobia together. Because it sucks and it’s stupid and it’s not okay, point blank.

spacey-casey

I love how the assumption is that bi people are secretly attracted to men, and only men. And by love I mean hate with a burning feminist passion.

english-idylls

From The Mark on the Wall by Virginia Woolf (1917).

myjetpack

A recent cartoon for New Scientist.

phemiec

Beauty is, in some way, boring. Even if its concept changes through the ages… a beautiful object must always follow certain rules. A beautiful nose shouldn’t be longer than that or shorter than that, but on the contrary, an ugly nose can be as long as the one of Pinocchio, or as big as the trunk of an elephant, or like the beak of an eagle, and so ugliness is unpredictable, and offers an infinite range of possibility. Beauty is finite, ugliness is infinite like God.

Umberto Eco, On The History Of Ugliness (via mrsfscottfitzgerald)

purplebuddhaproject

If I breathe you in and you breathe me out, I swear we can breathe forever. I swear I’ll find summer in your winter and spring in your autumn and always, hands at the ends of your fingers, arms at the ends of your shoulders and I swear, when we run out of forever, when we run out of air, your name will be the last word that my lungs make air for.

Iain Thomas (via purplebuddhaproject)