Showing posts tagged quotation
Buy half-price lingerie and model it in your bedroom for yourself. Feel like you have a secret because you’re wearing black, see-through underwear while talking to your teacher about your next assignment. Glance at attractive strangers on public transportation. When they look back, hold their gaze for a few seconds. Smile. Get their number. Get off the train and never see them again, riding the high of your mutual minute of understanding. Accept more dinner invitations with people who spark your interest, romantically or not. Keep yourself busy with the things your relationship used to keep you from doing. Practice a hobby. Learn a new language and feel how good it is to say “goodbye” in a new way. Fuck yourself in the shower. Begin to appreciate sex in a way you couldn’t before. Sing along to pop songs without guilt. Buy yourself flowers to tuck behind your ear. Laugh easily. Let the ache hollow out more room for you to grow. When you catch your ex on the street six months later, smile when they tell you you’ve changed. Consider telling them you are a wildfire that burned over the places they touched. Consider reminding them you cannot know every space in someone by running your fingers over them. For a second, consider asking them to take you back and then laugh because you are no longer the same person they held. You are a wildfire and the world is made of brush. Go ahead and burn.

— "What To Do After A Break Up", Lora Mathis

(Source: lora-mathis)

  • 1 month ago
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Like all who are impassioned, I take blissful delight in losing myself, in fully experiencing the thrill of surrender. And so I often write with no desire to think, in an externalized reverie, letting the words cuddle me like a baby in their arms. They form sentences with no meaning, flowing softly like water I can feel, a forgetful stream whose ripples mingle and undefine, becoming other, still other ripples, and still again other. Thus ideas and images, throbbing with expressiveness, pass through me in resounding processions of pale silks on which imagination shimmers like moonlight, dappled and indefinite.

— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

  • 2 months ago
  • 14
I need my small, meaningless lies. I need all my self-created semi-truths. It’s the only way for me to keep exclusive parts of myself to myself. Believe me, I do not even perceive them as lies. It’s something different that keeps happening inside my head. At the same time, I long to tell you the truth about me, always. I want to share with you each important or unimportant detail and feel and fully embrace the very act of sharing. But it occurs to me that it’s the hardests of tasks; I hate it. I hate unveiling bits and pieces of anything permanent or temporary that resides in me. I loathe it with my heart. You can find more honesty in the smallest of my gestures rather in my words; my words are too impatient, too loose, too doomed in some way.

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1

  • 2 months ago
  • 737
I keep trying to convey something which cannot be conveyed, to explain something which cannot be explained, something in my bones, which can only be experienced in the same bones. In essence it might be nothing more than that fear of the greatest things as well as the smallest, fear, convulsive fear of pronouncing a single word. On the other hand, maybe this fear isn’t simply fear, but also longing for something greater than anything that can aspire fear. Only I am at fault, because there is too little truth on my part, still far too little truth, still mostly lies, lies told out of fear of myself and fear of people. And now I am keeping my mouth shut in order to stick with the truth a little. Lying is horrible, there is no worse mental agony. Therefore I beg you: let me be silent.

— Franz Kafka, Letters To Milena

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

  • 2 months ago
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I believe that we are arks of the covenant and our true nature is not rage or deceit or terror or logic or craft or even sorrow. It is longing.

Cormac McCarthy, Whales and Men

(Source: katherinerebeccanoble)

  • 2 months ago
  • 247
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right into through if the skin wasn’t trying to keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side of the theater where the curtain keeps rising. I crawled out the window and ran into the woods. I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn’t a kingdom then I don’t know what is

— Richard Siken

(Source: mod-ifer)

  • 2 months ago
  • 1264
It’s tempting, emptiness.

— Vladimir Nabokov, The Original of Laura

  • 2 months ago
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