She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening. She has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; she hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking.

Angela Carter, “The Lady of the House of Love” from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories (via retardgrl)

Books have to be heavy because the whole world’s inside them.

Cornelia Funke, Inkheart (via quotablebookquotes)

#this book means so much to me

(via there-was-a-girl)

Cities are for
                 breaking you into several people
                                                          at once.

excerpted from Lug Your Body out of the Careful Dusk, by Joshua Marie Wilkinson (via miraging)

Literature was not born the day when a boy crying “wolf, wolf” came running out of the Neanderthal valley with a big gray wolf at his heels; literature was born on the day when a boy came crying “wolf, wolf” and there was no wolf behind him.

Vladimir Nabokov (via tierradentro)

#we’re all just really good liars (via thehottestvip)

Maybe if your dick was thicker than your goddamn eyebrows we wouldn’t be having this conversation

Gay couple arguing outside Walmart (via dacelio)

One of the strongest taboos in Vulcan culture is making uninvited physical contact. Even husbands and wives often only touch each other with one or two fingers at most in day-to-day situations. Contact such as hand-holding, hugging or kissing is unknown in civilized Vulcan behavior.

(via first—officer—spock)

Chris first and foremost cares about digging deeper within himself, about being a good person and being a more authentic person and understanding himself more.

ZQ on CP [x] (via nonnonmodernist)

WHY DOES HE – WHY DOES HE DO THAT

mochi on karl urban’s tendency to bend over various surfaces and brace himself

Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.

Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense (via perfect)

I. Those of us born by water are never afraid enough of drowning. Bruises used to trophy my knees from my death-defying tree climb jumps. Growing up, my backyard was a forest of blackberry bushes. I learned early nothing sweet will come to you unthorned.

II. At twelve your body becomes a currency. So Jenny and I sat down and cut up all our clothes into nothing. That year I failed math class but knew the exact number of calories in a carrot stick. I learned early being desired goes hand in hand with hunger.

III. The last time I tried to scream I felt my father climbing up through my throat and into my mouth.

IV. There is a certain kind of girl who reads Lolita at fourteen and finds religion. I painted my eyes black and sucked barroom cherries to red my tongue. There was a boy who promised Judas really did love Jesus. I learned early every kiss and betrayal are up for interpretation.

V. I think he must have conferenced with my nightmares on exactly how to hurt me.

VI. He never broke my heart. He only turned it into a compass
that always points me back to him.

Clementine von Radics, ”In Defense of Loving Him (after Megan Falley)” (via lifeinpoetry)