Your first kiss isn’t as important as your last. The math test really didn’t matter. The pie really did. The stuff you’re good at and the stuff you’re bad at are just different parts of the same thing. Same goes for the people you love and the people you don’t—and the people who love you and the people who don’t. The only thing that mattered was that you cared about a few people. Life is really, really short.
— Ethan Wate - Beautiful Chaos
My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I’m told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but it’s silver when it’s wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.
— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends
Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.
— Thomas Pynchon
April 30, 2013 at 4:01pm
How easy life is when it’s easy, and how hard when it’s hard.
— Philip Roth, The Professor of Desire
Women want love to be a novel. Men, a short story.
— Daphne du Maurier
any guesses on where liquidlightandrunningtrees comes from?
I demand unconditional love and complete freedom. That is why I am terrible.
— Tomaz Salamun
As I see it, you are living with something that you keep hidden deep inside. Something heavy. I felt it from the first time I met you. You have a strong gaze, as if you have made up your mind about something. To tell you the truth, I myself carry such things around inside. Heavy things. That is how I can see it in you.
— Haruki Murakami
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
— Pat Schneider, “The Patience of Ordinary Things”
Some days I can go nearly an hour
without thinking of the taste
of your mouth.
— Tim Seibles
The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.
— Nikos Kazantzakis
between being loved and being fucked
is I can’t remember how the first feels.
I come to bed quiet, kiss with my eyes closed,
hate how easily I touch you.
Find me the sweetest boy, with a heart
more hopeful than spun sugar on a hot day,
I will teach him the meaning of meaningless
nights. The whole time, every moment, wishing
he’d crack me open, rib by rib, to see
how I work. How I bleed.
— Clementine von Radics
And then there’s the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can’t touch, or at lips that don’t smile at me. Or hips that don’t reach for me. And hearts that don’t beat for me.
— Markus Zusak
I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway.
— Patti Smith
Wake up every morning and tell yourself that you’re a badass bitch from hell and that no one can fuck with you, and then don’t let anybody fuck with you.
— Kate Nash’s advice to college students