Entre la richesse et l'amour (Between Wealth and Love), (Detail), (1869), by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825 – 1905), signed (bottom right): ‘-1869-/W-BOVGVEREAV’, oil on canvas, 106.5 cm (41.9 in) x 89 cm (35 in), Private Collection

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Entre la richesse et l'amour (Between Wealth and Love), (Detail), (1869), by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825 – 1905), signed (bottom right): ‘-1869-/W-BOVGVEREAV’, oil on canvas, 106.5 cm (41.9 in) x 89 cm (35 in), Private Collection
Sex is for anyone; the aftermath is for lovers.
— Harlan Coben in Kein Sterbenswort
I get the urge to put words together sometimes. I hope they’re pleasant for you. Thanks for reading. ✌🏼
We don't fall in love with people because they're good people. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise. You can fall in love with a person for all of the right reasons, but that kind of love can still fall apart. But when you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them— that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones. Love, I am convinced, is found in the darkness. It is the candle in the night.
— C. JoyBell C.
I never wanted a quiet, sensible sort of love. I wanted to be devoured.
— Beau Taplin
"I hate you."
"Only because of the way I make you feel."
My fingernails eat into my palms. "Only because you bring out the worst in me."
"Oh no, luv. I bring out the life in you."
— A.G. Howard, Splintered (Splintered, #1)
can you love my restless soul
and bleeding heart… they’re falling
all over you messy and wild, just dying
to love you reckless and wild.
— butterflies rising