She thought she was independent and strong, but she got one small taste of love and she was hungrier than anyone. She was ravenous. —Ann Brashares, Girls In Pants: The Third Summer of the Sisterhood (via larmoyante)
I don’t suppose I really know you very well—but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder. —Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald (via titians)
A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you. —A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini (via pakizah)
I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole. —Warsan Shire (via mellonball)
“YOU PATHOLOGIZE MY EMOTIONS TO INVALIDATE MY REALITY.” / 2012
You think relationships are difficult? Try friendships. Try courting someone in order to convince them to join you in some nameless, shapeless Platonic complication — forever. Convince an adult stranger that you are worth a healthy slice of their limited time and energy without the prize of sex or romance. —Laura Jayne Martin (via turquoisebeads)
I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. —Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (via larmoyante)
i give myself five days to forget you.
on the first day i rust.
on the second i wilt.
on the third day i sit with friends but i think about your tongue.
i clean my room on the fourth day. i clean my body on the fourth day.
i try to replace your scent on the fourth day.
the fifth day, i adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate.
a wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.
the midas of cheap metal.
tinsel in the middle of summer.
crevice glitter, two days after the party.
i glow the way unwanted things do,
a neon sign that reads;
come, i still taste like someone else’s mouth.
You can’t just make me different and then leave. —Looking for Alaska, John Green (via fe-el)
We must be our own before we can be another’s. —Emerson (via blua)
If you haven’t read this book yet you really need to. (The Lover’s Dictionary by David Levithan)