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Why can I not stop talking to you? In my head?

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry written c. January 1921 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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do you ever start saying something and mid sentence you’re like you know what I don’t even want to talk and just stop

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I am strange to myself, (…)

Rainer Maria Rilke, from II, 2 in “Rilke’s Book Of Hours: Love Poems To God” [translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy]

Ich war mir fremd wie irgendwer,

(via adrasteiax)

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Do you know what it is to dance with rage? That’s what I do inwardly again and again.

Henry Miller, from a letter to Hoki Tokuda Miller c. October 1968 (via writemeanna)

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me: wants to play multiple instruments, create art, speak multiple languages, etc.

me: lays on the floor face down for an hour instead

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“The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

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“I’m like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.”

Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (via amargedom)

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ok universe, i’m ready to feel good things. make me feel good things.

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any kids i have will be spoiled rotten with love. just covered in love and support and acceptance and encouragement

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I’m such a fan of low soft lighting like turn off that room light and turn on a lamp bitch

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moan directly into my mouth actually

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However painful they were, I needed my dreams—the metaphor for my introspection—if I was ever to be at peace.

Susan Sontag, from The Complete Works; “The Benefactor,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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There is nothing left from you but these broken fragments.

José Ángel Valente, from “Project for an Epitaph,” Puerto del Sol (Volume 40 Number 2, Summer 2005)

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A dream ago, perhaps.

Denise Levertov, from Poems: 1960 - 1967; “What Were They Like?,”. (via weltenwellen)

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Isn’t it weird how you can actually feel the pain in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings