febrero 2, 2012

Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.

Sylvia Plath (via liquidmoons)

febrero 2, 2012

I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.

Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness (via apotropaism)

febrero 2, 2012

Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

Truman Capote (via nirvikalpa)

febrero 2, 2012

Oh, darling, you will be good to me, won’t you? Because we’re going to have a strange life.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via cavum)