Tumgik
Text
Tumblr media
— Delmira Augustini, from Poets of Eros
2 notes · View notes
Text
"I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human."
— David Bowie
21 notes · View notes
Text
I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we're both unhappy, and we both suffer.
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot
8 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
blessing you say, and it is curse along with blessing i tell you. the constitution of nature is that you have to pay greater prices for greater things you have borrowed.
I'm a poet. I am a human of all kinds in one body. I am the saint, and i am the sinner. I am the love, and i am the hate. I, who is the human who prays to god, also am the human who curses at him. For what i wear so many skins upon my own, i am paying the greater price of all others.
— muffinsincoffin, "a wolf talk with me"
23 notes · View notes
Text
"You cannot make everyone think and feel as deeply as you do. This is your tragedy, because you understand them but they do not understand you."
—Daniel Saint
15 notes · View notes
Text
If you call me and say 'Will you...' my answer is 'Yes', before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.
— Jeanette Winterson
8 notes · View notes
Text
I will leave such an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me in order to understand you.
— unknown
43 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
0 notes
Text
"Why are people so scared of love?"
Because everyone has met a monster who ruined the idea of love, forever. Because everyone has a scar, which doesn't let them smile again in love. Because everyone has heard so many lies that even the truth sounds fake now. Everyone is too scared to be broken again.
— Unknown
11 notes · View notes
Text
“People will kill you over time, and how they'll kill you is with tiny, harmless phrases, like 'be realistic'"
— Dylan Moran
42 notes · View notes
Text
When Gregory Alan Isakov said, "She'll follow me down every street, No matter what my crime."
— Amsterdam
0 notes
Text
when he said ily, but Franz Kafka said:
in a way, you are poetry material. you are full of cloudy subtleties i am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality
57 notes · View notes
Text
When he says, "I'm busy call me later" but
Roman Riviera said, "you call me. even if it's just to ask which shirt you should wear or if you're out of snacks. i don't give a shit if I'm working, sleeping or, half-dead; you grab that phone, and you call me. I'll pick up whatever you need even if I'm six feet under, bella. there isn't a god in existence that could stop me from getting to you."
21 notes · View notes
Text
Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I'll kiss you for it. To go wrong in your own way is better than to go right in someone else's.
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
125 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
"If somebody says 'I love you' to me, I feel as though I had a pistol pointed at my head. What can anybody reply under such conditions but that which the pistol holder requires? 'I love you, too."
— Kurt Vonnegut
58 notes · View notes
Text
i had a foul mouth and hands dirtied of holding love. i was a kid with busted lip. i was a kid with parents not home on Sundays. i was a kid who never knew what to eat so she chewed on whatever looked like it could fill the bullet gap in shape of her parents.
— exerpt from "Twenty-two nudes of my remodeled house
46 notes · View notes
Text
I left the tap open in the kitchen maybe to strain the grease of the two pasta bowls I am not willing to touch, I put in the wine glasses along so no one thinks I am trying to scrub the memory off. Television is playing news of plane crash, there’s a boy half naked in my bed, face stuffed into the pillow. I’ll pretend my dog is alive and I have a duty of taking him to walk. Someone should feel home and not abandoned. So when I get back it doesn’t feel hundred years has passed. The boy in my bed is an anthropologist, still he mispronounced my name three times the same night I told him I was a virgin. We are sitting on the floor fifteen nights past that. I run my hand onto his scar as wild as a car accident maybe except from my body while we have sex nothing is warm. Not my hands. Not my words. The scar slips down to his hip bone, believe me it is long and ugly, very ugly but I still tell him, it’s beautiful. I didn’t tell him nuisance about scars are proof of the battles you won. I don’t think anyone wants to be congratulated for survival. He stuck a note on my vanity “Dear Valentine, loving you is not a war but loving you is not less than a war. It is something in between. Because you don’t know how to kiss. You kiss like you lodge the bullet, it maybe to end the war or to begin one”
— how he told me about the war
30 notes · View notes