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Victor Hugo, Ninety-Three
[Text ID: “whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars”]
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I've realised I only turn to my diary when the days are bad and if this isn't confirmation that human pain is the brush and pen of art, poetry and literature I don't know what is.
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I once described you as "my Petit Carême, a beacon in this unforgiving season" but now it seems as if you are the season and I need to look elsewhere for some light.
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afraid i may have touched a sadness within myself i cannot jerk my way out of
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Today is the day my life begins..
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Wildflowers by Graham Spencer // Mines of the West
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“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
— Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night (via suspend)
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https://www.instagram.com/p/Cqmt6WxoiL4/
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