When I was a child, when I was an adolescent, books saved me from despair: that convinced me that culture was the highest of values.
Simone de Beauvoir, The Woman Destroyed, 1967
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dark academia wallpaper - plz reblog if you use!
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Bram Stoker, Dracula.
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“I think a lot, but I don’t say much.”
—
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“Beer dulls a memory, brand sets it burning, but wine is the best for a sore hearts yearning”
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Hozier is sexy, but you know what else is?
being emotional and mentally healthy, go to therapy, dear!
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“When winter comes, I will be touched by a passion for something absent.”
— Mahmoud Darwish, from She/He; Almond Blossoms and Beyond (tr. by Mohammad Shaheen)
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“It’s summer now, and you’re craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance. You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It’s summer now, and you’re looking forward to worrying less. You’re looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You’re looking forward to gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You’re looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You’re looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You’re looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You’re looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You’re looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last. You’re looking forward.”
— Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water
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Marte
procurei a paz
mas desejei a guerra
talvez eu seja mesmo
filho de Marte
procurando um lar
nas cidades arrasadas
me sentindo em casa
nos escombros das pessoas
e nas minhas próprias
ruínas
por isso quando você chegou
toda brisa, toda flores
varanda que dá
para verdes campos
eu senti
sede
e fome
de caos
eu pertenço as explosões urbanas
ao som das sirenes
e dos tiros
onde os finais são
os começos de outras histórias
tão trágicas
quanto as anteriores
quanto a minha própria
guerra
sou arte abstrata
em tons violentos de vermelho
sangrando
vivo
com a ideia fixa
e provavelmente
equivocada
de que se algo não machuca
não deve ser
real
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“I like it when you’re quiet. It’s as if you weren’t here now, / and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn’t reach you. / It’s as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you.”
— Pablo Neruda, from Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada, trans. Robert Hass in The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems (City Lights Books, 2004)
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Your kiss in the dark tastes like salvation, but it is no miracle like the chance to love you in the light.
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