🍷vinopoet🖊 @vinopoet - Tumblr Blog

“March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.”

V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

treybien

joyscrolling on tumblr.com

scorpionlafemme

urgetocreate

JB Cornish, Port Isaac from the Sea View Farm Shop, Oil on canvas

cornerstorebitch

no offense but reading is literally the cure to brain rot and there’s no work around to reading books

meanwhilepoetry

poetic-questions

from "Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin (1939-1947)"

zibaldoni-elzapoppin

xmu102

meanwhilepoetry

I would rather be loved for this ugly, dark, fang-mouthed thing that I am than be the pretty, docile girl you can understand. Things made of storm and chaos do not need to be understood. We simply need to be known and felt for what we are. A rage trapped inside a ribcage. A heart that is chrysalis to a hurricane.

Nikita Gill

weltenwellen

I love going on walks by myself. No pressure to keep up conversation. And there is something about movement that helps me think. To charge an idea with the body’s inertia. To carry a feeling through the distance and watch it grow.

Ocean Vuong, The Weight of Our Living: On Hope, Fire Escapes, and Visible Desperation

feral-ballad

Anne Michaels, from Skin Divers; “Skin Divers”

[Text ID: “Like the moon, I want / to touch places / just by looking.”]

mournfulroses

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from a letter featured in Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family & Friends

the-hearth-and-the-wild

Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but...life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.

Gabriel García Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera