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John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne  

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Instagram credit: polly.florence

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the urge to write is like a cat meowing for dear life for someone to open the goddamn door, who then shows utter disinterest in said open door

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Everytime I read Frankenstein, the same line makes me put the book down and stare at the wall. It’s my favorite line in the book; it has its own highlighter color in my annotations. The first time I read it, I literally detoured after my last class just to tell my lit teacher how much I liked the line because I couldn’t wait until second period the next day. Here’s the line:

“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

This is said by the creature. He wanted to live. He wanted to live life so badly even though he had had such a difficult one. He still loved the song of the birds and the smell of the flowers and the joy in the world even if he never got to truly experience that joy. I just. AHHHH.

He wanted to fight for a life he never got to live.

EDITS:

-don’t you fucking dare reblog this with “pro-life” rhetoric

-don’t reblog with Victor hate. I will block you. Most of it is thinly veiled ableism. I also have a very strong attachment to Victor and npd and will get so fucking angry I start angry sobbing if you do so xx

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AU where Dabi works that the crematorium that neighbour's Hawks' pizza workplace. 9-5, minimum wage. They're both so tired.

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if i could ever get even one project done i would be unstoppable

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@lovesdaya

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— Margaret Atwood, We Are Hard from Power Politics: Poems (via lunamonchtuna)

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The story of a marble worker Evrard Flignot from Brussels who devastated by the death of his wife built a pretty mausoleum for her in Cimetière de Laeken.

At first look inside, there is a mourner reaching out to an empty wall. But, once a year, on the day of the summer solstice, the Sun draws a light that recalls this love for almost a century.

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Sally Rooney

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youre gonna grow up and realize just how much more lightheartedness you need in life

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I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet

John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne (1819)

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life's too short to write for an imaginary critic that you fear will hate what you wrote

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Federico García Lorca

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Mary Oliver

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catharsis