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I can’t live in my body all the time it feels too much. So if I ever feel far away know I am not gone. I am just underneath my grief. Adjusting the dial on my radio face so I can take this life with all of its love and all of its loss. — Andrea Gibson, excerpt from “Royal Heart”

(Source: larmoyante, via skinflap)

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day. — Vincent Van Gogh (via gofuckingnuts)

(Source: feuille-d-automne, via cyku)

Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within. By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks he was able to feel that he was nowhere. And this, finally was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere. — Paul Auster, City of Glass 

(Source: l-oo)

The universe is very organized, even though it looks like chaos within it… Only until you step out and look at the big picture from afar you will realize that nothing is a coincidence. — Awakened Vibrations

(Source: awakenedvibrations, via dolphinkid46-deactivated2014030)

And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself. — Charles Dickens 

(Source: sea-beatnik, via 1ix91)

Going to pieces. To go to pieces so pointlessly and unnecessarily. — Franz Kafka, from Diaries

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via viage)

I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder. — Zelda to Scott, 1931  

(Source: fitzgeraldquotes, via corophagia)

Being a body narrows you. Genetics predetermine the star of your face, the hills and valleys nourished below. I cannot be all things, as a body. As a mind, I can bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things. But my body is a full stop, a contained space, an impermanent expression of creative energy. — Kara VanderBijl, “Above Corruption

(via corophagia)

Sometimes there’s no poison like a dream. — Tanya Donelly  

(Source: orguns, via cyku)

The aim of art is to prepare a person for death. — Andrey Tarkovsky 

(Source: saloandseverine, via conative-deactivated20140107)