I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore.  
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“Stop worrying about your identity and concern yourself with the people you care about, ideas that matter to you, beliefs you can stand by, tickets you can run on. Intelligent humans make those choices with their brain and hearts and they make them alone. The world does not deliver meaning to you. You have to make it meaningful…and decide what you want and need and must do. It’s a tough, unimaginably lonely and complicated way to be in the world. But that’s the deal: you have to live; you can’t live by slogans, dead ideas, clichés, or national flags. Finding an identity is easy. It’s the easy way out.”

Zadie Smith, On Beauty  (via aminaabramovic)

1 day ago with 3,266 notes

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“I feel a sadness I expected and which comes only from myself. I say I’ve always been sad. That I can see the same sadness in photos of myself when I was small. That today, recognizing it as the sadness I’ve always had, I could almost call it by my own name, it’s so like me.”

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover  (via mirroir)

1 day ago with 2,888 notes

“I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.”

Warsan Shire  (via earnestly)

5 days ago with 14,368 notes

“Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart & mind. I love thinking of you.”

Katherine Mansfield, in a letter to Virginia Woolf, dated 13 August 1919 (via violentwavesofemotion)

1 week ago with 5,176 notes

“There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.”

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June (via hellanne)

1 week ago with 1,067 notes

“That’s why I like you so much. Your heart isn’t dead.”

Albert Camus, from The Just (via violentwavesofemotion)

1 week ago with 4,719 notes

“How can I stop fearing other people? How can I know who I am? How to let my native sense of meaning flow and connect with people and the world? Why this sense of horror, coming over me? Fear?”

Sylvia Plath, from a diary entry (via violentwavesofemotion)

1 week ago with 1,588 notes

“Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us.”

Charles Bukowski, Post Office  (via larmoyante)

2 weeks ago with 3,653 notes