"I NEED SOLITUDE FOR MY WRITING. NOT LIKE A HERMIT - THAT WOULDN'T BE ENOUGH - BUT LIKE A DEAD MAN." -KAFKA


I am sad and have a passion for unknown, distant places. I want to see the world. And I would love it, if I just had the chance to get away for a little while. But sadly, things aren’t that easy; desire won’t change a thing.
—A Dying Flower (Abraham M. Alghanem)
Yes, I do enjoy walking at night. The world’s more to my liking then, not so loud, not so fast, not so crowded, and a good deal more mysterious.
—Dustfinger; Inkheart.  (via zivaballerina)
You won’t do our things with another girl, or say the same things, will you?
—A Farewell to Arms (Ernest Hemingway)

(Source: wordsthat-speak)

Maybe…you’ll fall in love with me all over again.”
“Hell,” I said, “I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?”
“Yes. I want to ruin you.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s what I want too.
—Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms (via littleblips)
I have lived
in my body
for years
and still need
maps and lights
to find my way
to how I feel.
—Body of Maps (via insanity-and-vanity)

(Source: hellanne)

I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.
I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.
—J.D. Salinger (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: orsomethinglikethatreally)

Other people might look at me, but you see me. That’s where the difference is. You see right down into my soul, and I guess nobody ever did that before.

(Source: dolorimeter)

(Source: mildly-lively)

lonequixote:

Daubigny’s Garden, 1890 ~ Vincent van Gogh

lonequixote:

Daubigny’s Garden, 1890 ~ Vincent van Gogh

my “i havent slept in 30 hours but still tryna look like arielle” face

my “i havent slept in 30 hours but still tryna look like arielle” face

We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.
—Charles Bukowski. (via poignance)

(Source: likeafieldmouse)

(Source: utalkn2me)

Yes, I was infatuated with you; I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my minds, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.
—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via perfect)

(Source: thechocolatebrigade)