Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted. by John Lennon (via linatang)

(via s0nnets)

And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. by Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via larmoyante)
I would do my taxes. Fill out insurance forms. Count grains of rice in a bag. Whatever made time pass the slowest with you. by I Wrote This for You (via troubled)
We accept the love we think we deserve by The Perks of Being A Wallflower (via vintage-kisses)

(via hazeltonss)

The next suitable person you’re in light conversation with, you stop suddenly in the middle of the conversation and look at the person closely and say, “What’s wrong?” You say it in a concerned way. He’ll say, “What do you mean?” You say, “Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?” And he’ll look stunned and say, “How did you know?” He doesn’t realize something’s always wrong, with everybody. Often more than one thing. He doesn’t know everybody’s always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they’re exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing’s ever wrong, from seeing it. by DFW (via hatefulandhollow)

(via attarderais)

I think things are beautiful when you don’t plan them, and you don’t have any expectations, and you’re not trying to get somewhere in particular. by Alison Mosshart (via faeriepetals)

(Source: ramblingwoman78, via lu-ella)

I am a cage, in search of a bird. by Franz Kafka (via bluebiird)

(Source: blua, via ancoris)

You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later they’re as dull as a brick? Then there’s other people, when you meet them you think, “Not bad. They’re okay.” And then you get to know them and… and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality’s written all over it. And they just turn into something so beautiful. by Amelia Pond (via fawun)

(Source: venebelle, via herestoyou-darling)

Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins. by Gustave Flaubert, November (via cartographe)

(via ailurophille)

Silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. by William S. Burroughs, The Job: Interviews with William S. Burroughs (via coredust)

(Source: honeyforthehomeless, via coredust)

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