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Anais Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1939-1947

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♪ And that’ll be a good day, such a good day ♪

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idont have any talent. i like to look at grass and i dont have other hobbies. when people ask me how im doing i ignore the question 

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The Outbursts of Everett True was a comic strip that ran in papers from 1905 to 1927, wherein the aforementioned Everett True regularly beat the everliving shit out of rude people as a warning to anyone else who might consider being rude. Men have not only been taking up too much room on public transport for about as long as public transport has existed, but the people around them have been irritated about it for at least a hundred years. The next time someone tries to claim that manspreading is a false phenomenon, please direct them to this strip so that Everett True can correct their misconceptions with an umbrella upside the head.

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Skins (2007-2013)

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u may not like ur arms but they can carry babies and puppies and kittens

and u may not like ur hands but they can hold flowers and other hands and help braid hair

and u may not like ur nose but it helps u smell nice candles and the earth after it rains and the nice lotion u put on

u may not like ur eyes but they help u see pretty people and cute dogs and cats and all the bright colors around you.

you may not like ur legs but they can help u walk through fields of flowers and through cities full of beautiful buildings

and you may not like ur tummy but it’s a good pillow and it helps u digest good food and u may not like ur body but it loves u so much!!! ur body is beautiful and some days may be hard but u have to take care of urself!! i’m rooting for you!!!

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“Beatrice cut herself stealthily, deeply. Beatrice was so sad, removed. It was as if she wasn’t there. And then, you look down at the arms. It became a habit: looking, noticing, understanding something.”

— Suzanne Scanlon, from Promising Young Women

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Takuboku Ishikawa, tr. by Tamae K. Prindle, from The Selected Poems; “A Love Song to Myself,”

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Edgar Allan Poe, from a letter to Helen Whitman featured in “The last letters of Edgar Allan Poe to Sarah Helen Whitman,”

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Art by Gerard Way 2005

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#word

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“I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever.” - Charles Bukowski

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me, feeling bad: uh oh looks like it’s time to isolate babey!! *proceeds to only feel significantly worse*