You know that moment when you’re reading a book and you just have to stop and bite your lip and squeal or sigh or close your eyes and wrinkle your nose and forehead and press the book against your heart and just like sit there and try to soak up the gorgeous literature via osmosis?
That’s my favorite part of reading.
For what is more delightful than leisure devoted to literature? That literature I mean which gives us the knowledge of the infinite greatness of nature, and, in this actual world of ours, the sky, the lands, the seas.
—Cicero (via wwnorton)
For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald (via babanees)
This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.
—Gary Provost
It’s the oldest story in the world. One day, you’re 17 and you’re planning for someday. And then quietly, without you’re ever really noticing, someday is today. And then someday is yesterday. And this is your life.
—Nathan Scott (via pythons)
Find what you love and let it kill you.
—Charles Bukowski (via allhopedies)
We live alone. We die alone. Everything else is just an illusion.” It used to keep me up at night. We all die alone. So why am I supposed to spend my life working, sweating, struggling… for an illusion? Because no amount of friends, no girl, no assignments about conjugating the proof perfect or determining the square of the hypotenuse is gonna help me avoid my fate. I have better things to do with my time.
— The Art of Getting By (via flu-oxetine)
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
—Anne Sexton (via atomiclanterns)
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.
—Stephen Chbosky (via infinitives)
