And the sweet little angel couldn’t keep her eyes off the devil.
4am
Etikett: poetry
“She never felt like she belonged anywhere, except for when she was laying on her bed, pretending to be somewhere else.”
— Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor and Park (via altogetherweathered)
“Eternal, fragile, enigmatic, bright.”
— Jorge Luis Borges, tr. by Tony Barnstone, from “Music Box,”
I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
Anaïs Nin, from Henry & June
“I greatly feel the loneliness of the soul —”
— Radclyffe Hall, from a letter to Eugenia Souline written c. October 1934
Nothing between me and the white fire of the stars / but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths / among the branches of the perfect trees.
Mary Oliver, from A Thousand Mornings: Poems; “Sleeping in the Forest,”
You are the reason for living,
Paul Celan, from a letter to Ingeborg Bachmann written c. October 1957
In this moonlight state of mind, forlorn and yet euphoric, I went on weeping.
Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, “Kesa and Moritō”
You, memory,
almost weightless
this morning inside me.
Jane Hirshfield, from The Beauty: Poems; “My Memory,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
(via violentwavesofemotion)
Daydreams were what kept me going, day after day, and I had no right to them.
Kurt Vonnegut, from Mother Night; “A Polygamous Casanova,”
beberequin 