#literary quotes

[moonlight-dove]

David Benioff, Troy

// Adapted from Homer, The Iliad

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

This ~

Albert Camus, from "Personal Writings," originally published in 2020

[y2kaee]

[project-quoter]

Shop | Raw Edge Gallery

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Nature Poetry & Springtime Beauty ~

Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath? Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden, and softly, and exclaiming of their dearness, fill your arms with the white and pink flowers, with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling, their eagerness to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are nothing, forever?

Mary Oliver, from "Peonies"

[bloodtoyou]

Give me all

Everything God

Has given you

Take it all

Anything you want

If only you knew

Nothing at all

Of me is there for the world

My living is a lie to all of you

If only at all

My body did as I told

My perceived deceit could've been truth

After all

How useless I seem matter not

I was conceived, created to enjoin good

So for all of yourself

I'll rot with every bit of you till anew

I'll tell you what's left

how I can be used

What nobody said

I'll say to your bruise

Every name has a place

I'll show it to you

This is not something to relate

I don't have to prove

You who's reading and read

not even for you

It's for myself

Like everything I do

[noahhim]

Some relationships gives out the vibes of “This could’ve been an email”.

[lenainwonderland]

- Jane Austen

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Such Poetic Beauty ~

[poemwav]

by Catheirne Pond | from "Swimming in a Glacial Lake, Late Autumn"

[kameneva]

girl poetry V

[poetryforall]

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Beautiful ~

i want death to be someone brushing the hair from my face,

whispering “go back to sleep, it’s still early.”

and me believing them.

[songs-of-venus]

Reality suffocates me.

Can I exist in dreams instead?

— @songs-of-venus

[enlitment]

"All was darkness; all was doubt; all was confusion. The eighteenth century was over; the nineteenth century had begun.”

— V. Woolf in Orlando