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About: follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.

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“be softer with you. you are a breathing thing. a memory to someone. a home to a life.” —nayyirah waheed  (via origamiprincesss)

(Source: nayyirahwaheed, via thetalltwig)

aseaofquotes:

Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

aseaofquotes:

Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

“I’m just tired; I just want the world to be quiet for a bit.” —Matty Healy (via rnoonphase)

(Source: hajniil, via pavorst)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

—Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII (via man-of-prose)

(via commovente)

“Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.” —Yara Bashraheel (via suspend)

(Source: yarotica, via grace-full)

“I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.” —Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via wordsnquotes)

(via thetalltwig)

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” —Dead Poets Society (via langleav)

(Source: lovevoltaireusapart, via beautyisanillusion)

“I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room
where everyone finally gets what they want.
You said Tell me about your books, your visions made
of flesh and light
and I said This is the Moon. This is
the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you
there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar
cube…
We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart?
and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
—Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain (via lipfused)

(Source: catteine, via commovente)

igazie:

Rene Magritte - The Vengeance

igazie:

Rene Magritte - The Vengeance

(Source: magrittee, via twerpo)

“You’ll ache. And you’re going to love it. It will crush you. And you’re still going to love all of it. Doesn’t it sound lovely beyond belief?”Ernest Hemingway || The Garden Of Eden (via oxfay)

(Source: kitty-en-classe, via guiseofgentlewords)

“And lastly from that period I remember riding in a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rosy sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up (via observando)

(via langleav)

aseaofquotes:

— William Somerset Maugham

aseaofquotes:

— William Somerset Maugham

(via aseaofquotes)

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.” —Zelda Fitzgerald (via kushandwizdom)

(via langleav)

raspberrymilk:

Claude Monet , Glycines ,100 x 300 cm ( 1917 - 1920 ) oil on canvas

raspberrymilk:

Claude Monet , Glycines ,100 x 300 cm ( 1917 - 1920 ) oil on canvas