He’s my favourite book; the vintage edition with the slightly worn-out pages, the binding disintegrating with my every touch so that I have to handle with care. He’s the cliffhanger and the happy ending that I desperately crave. He’s not the most popular book in the bookstore; he’s not at the shop-front, catching everyone’s eye in the window with his self-righteous front cover but he is my favourite piece of art. I like that about him. He’s not what people expect. And that is why he is mine.
londonblogger
– Charlotte Bronte
LiteratureMy very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.
Jane Eyre
– Margaret Atwood
LiteratureShe imagines him imagining her.
This is her salvation.
The Blind Assassin
S.M
PoetryWhen I stare into your eyes
and you stare back into mine
I don’t just see the surface
I see the galaxies as they hide.
And for those fleeting moments
I know not of gruesome thoughts
but rather of the cosmos
the stars, your eyes have caught.
It’s as if you swallowed night
just to take my breath away
the universe is endless
and my feelings are the same.
Striking depths of space I see
your eyes provide this view
what do you think while you search mine?
All I think is, ‘I love you.’
– Robin Williams
Quotes“You’re only given one little spark of madness. You musn’t lose it.”
Frank Kafka
QuotesFollow your most intense obsessions mercilessly
Charles Bukowski
Literaturethe tired sunsets and the tired
people-
it takes a lifetime to die and
no time at
all.
– William Shakespeare
LiteratureHELL IS EMPTY
ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE
Hamlet
– Anonymous
Poetry“I knew you were no good for me because when you stood in front of her, your eyes swallowed her smile until you wore one too. I pictured her choking to death on her long hair before I realised she wasn’t the reason I was upset.
A few facts about me since the advent of you: I don’t put peanut butter on both sides of the sandwich anymore and I never leave milk out on the counter because you’re right, it’s gross. I sleep with a cat and a dog in my bed partly because they’re warm and partly because when I wake up screaming, they have no words to ask me what I’ve been seeing. I run every day now but I still have not managed to escape you. Whenever I breathe too deeply I can taste the tobacco of your kisses at the bottom of my lungs. Last night I set seven alarms and slept through all of them on purpose. I am no longer held together by your stitches and it feels like all the limbs that you had your hands on are slowly drifting like continents away from each other so one day I will be lost in space, all in pieces like broken pottery.
I miss you more than I can say.”
– Osho
PoetryIf you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because if you pick it up, it dies, and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. It is about appreciation.
