The Latest

Jul 16, 2014 / 78,645 notes

(via ha-ze)

Jul 16, 2014 / 121,259 notes

(via ha-ze)

Jul 15, 2014 / 9,029 notes

(via gabrioluh)

Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (via observando)
Jul 15, 2014 / 782 notes
If I had not existed, someone else would have written me, Hemingway, Dostoevsky, all of us.
Faulkner, William. Interview by Jean Stein. The Paris Review.   (via wordsnquotes)
Jul 14, 2014 / 298 notes
And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.
Friedrich Nietzsche (via observando)
Jul 14, 2014 / 1,475 notes
Jul 14, 2014 / 732,354 notes

(via sparkhy)

Jul 13, 2014 / 21 notes

iwriteoutofnecessity:

It’s pandemonium in between my ribs, a chaotic friction of lungs sparking against one another as the words I dream of telling you push against my skin.

We’re broken transmissions stuck in between gears, no way to reverse down this bumpy road, coordinates lost between frantic breaths.

I’m watching the tide smash against the rocks, wondering what it’s like to be the lightning spreading down your curved spine.

K.M. classified documents of conversations we’ve never had

I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via observando)
Jul 13, 2014 / 1,259 notes
Seeing her sitting there unresponsive makes me realize that silence has a sound.
Jodi Picoult (via feellng)
Jul 12, 2014 / 2,078 notes
It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.
Lemony Snicket, Horseradish (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

Jul 12, 2014 / 703 notes
Jul 12, 2014 / 4 notes

(via swimmingnemo)

I dream of lost vocabularies that might
express some of what we no longer can.
From The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart by Jack Gilbert (via hush-syrup)
Jul 11, 2014 / 407 notes
I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.
Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness (via feellng)
Jul 11, 2014 / 3,705 notes
Most people think happiness is about gaining something, but it’s not. It’s all about getting rid of the darkness you accumulate.
Carolyn Crane (via wordsnquotes)
Jul 10, 2014 / 1,081 notes