‘But I like you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I like you first and second and third.’
F. Scott Fitzgerald, (via el-link)
(Source: larmoyante, via heccate)
Wake up. This is your life, for God sakes. It’s time to face up to it. You can’t get anywhere, can’t get over anything, if you don’t let yourself feel anything in the first place. It’s time.
Julie Buxbaum, The Opposite of Love (via larmoyante)
(via weshallhaveprettywords)
And my song needs to breathe: poetry isn’t poetry
and prose isn’t prose. I dreamt that you are the last of what god told me
when I saw you both in my sleep, then there were words…
and prose isn’t prose. I dreamt that you are the last of what god told me
when I saw you both in my sleep, then there were words…
Maḥmoud Darwish, from “Sonnet I” in The Butterfly’s Burden, trans. Fady Joudah (via proustitute)
Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone—all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.
