Sunday / 107,715 notes / reblog
im going to bermuda over the summer omg yay and then im going to rome next summer oh my (◡‿◡✿)
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I am afraid of getting older… I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free… I want, I want to think, to be omniscient…
Sylvia Plath written in 1949 at age 17. (via neutral-malik-hotel)
(Source: learningfromthehands, via arose186)
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I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.
Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (via larmoyante)
(Source: larmoyante)
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It is likely I will die next to a pile of things I was meaning to read.
Lemony Snicket (via masturbatetothealphabet)
(Source: runa-lovegood, via talaska)
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Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.
i wish a was a cat
cats dont have to worry about college or how much of a failure they are
(via hazibo)
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I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.
Augusten Burroughs, Magical Thinking: True Stories (via larmoyante)
(Source: larmoyante)
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I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via larmoyante)
(Source: larmoyante)
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All of a sudden I didn’t fit in anywhere. Not at school, not at home… and every time I turned around, another person I’d known forever felt like a stranger to me. Even I felt like a stranger to me.
Wendelin Van Draanen (via larmoyante)
(Source: larmoyante)
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I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.
Warsan Shire (via thatkindofwoman)
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But sometimes we get sad about things and we don’t like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes we are sad but we don’t really know we are sad. So we say we aren’t sad. But really we are.
Mark Haddon (via loveyourchaos)
(Source: hellanne, via righteousgrrl)
