It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on.
(Source: infinitives, via feille)
We all carry these things inside that no one else can see, they hold us down like anchors they drown us out at sea.
(via feille)
The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.
(via feille)
we are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. we are one flesh, but separated like stars.
(via ya-tender)
When you have no one, no one can hurt you.
(Source: xyoursfaithfully, via ya-tender)
All I need to know is that I’m something you’ll be missing.
(Source: , via ya-tender)
I met a wonderful new man! He’s fictional, but you can’t have everything.
(Source: quote-book, via ya-tender)
You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your creative muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories – science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.
The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don’t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened.
(via ya-tender)
All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.
(via ya-tender)
Love isn’t about the romantic nights or gifts. It isn’t about fireworks going off around you when you have that first, real, kiss. Love isn’t about kissing in the rain and dancing beneath the stars. It isn’t about the big moments or the big surprises. Love is not a fairytale. Love is about still having the butterflies after years. It’s about the second looks and laying in bed wide awake, all night, because you can’t go to sleep mad at each other. It’s about being willing to sacrifice, literally, everything for someone, just because you care so deeply for them. It’s not about buying them gifts, but it’s about leaving them little presents here and there, just to remind them that you are constantly thinking about them. Love is about all of the little things, that add up to really big things. Love is rare and special, but should not be treated as if it will break. Love needs to be thrown around and beat up a little bit, worn in, but not worn down. Love needs to be a comfortable feeling, a place to go when NO ONE else in the world can relate. A safe place, where you know that no matter how ugly you look or how angry you are, you will still be loved.
(Source: beautemillesimee, via ya-tender)
I’m the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.
