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Making love with you
is like drinking sea water.
The more I drink
the thirstier I become,
until nothing can slake my thirst
but to drink the entire sea.
Kenneth Rexroth, The Love Poems of Marichiko: VII (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 11,038 notes
Book are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.
Roberto Bolaño, Literature + Illness = Illness (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 1,479 notes
Don’t be so vain to think that you ruined me,
that you wrecked me,
destroyed me.

I am the only one who has the power to do that.
Amanda Helm, The Day I Learned That I was Broken (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 12,367 notes
I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 16,981 notes
The only thing I’ve loved is nothing at all. The only thing I’ve desired is what I couldn’t even imagine. All I asked of life is that it go on by without my feeling it. All I demanded of love is that it never stop being a distant dream.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 1,982 notes
For it is I alone who carry all anxieties and fears within me, as alive as snakes; I alone who scrutinize them constantly, and only I know what they are.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice (via kafkaesque-world)

(via kafkaesque-world)

Oct 1, 2014 / 1,633 notes
…if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.
Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (via hellanne)
Oct 1, 2014 / 4,870 notes
For it is I alone who carry all anxieties and fears within me, as alive as snakes; I alone who scrutinize them constantly, and only I know what they are.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice (via kafkaesque-world)

(via kafkaesque-world)

Oct 1, 2014 / 1,633 notes
She is a living fire, such as I have never seen; incidentally, a fire that, despite everything, burns only for him.
Franz Kafka
(via kafkaesque-world)
Oct 1, 2014 / 859 notes
There are
some feelings
you will never
find words for;

you will learn
to name them
after the ones
who gave them
to you.
Oct 1, 2014 / 11,615 notes
Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.
Vladimir Nabokov, Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle  (via budddha)

(via budddha)

Oct 1, 2014 / 3,099 notes
So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead, and above the sheaves of yellow stars, shoals of cold bright pieces of light, and the great wind, blowing always cold gulps and gusts of air, big and soft in the tree leaves, hushing, miracles are happening, and I, strange and elated with a new wonder, child-like in my sudden power, look with eyes large in love and amazement at this intent lovely face so earnest, so close to mine.
Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath (via budddha)

(via budddha)

Oct 1, 2014 / 598 notes
The need to go astray, to be destroyed, is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth.
Georges Bataille  (via budddha)

(via budddha)

Oct 1, 2014 / 321 notes
You are a wonderful manifestation. The whole universe has come together to make your existence possible. There is nothing that is not you.
Thích Nhất Hạnh  (via budddha)

(via budddha)

Oct 1, 2014 / 2,747 notes
How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?
Sylvia Plath, Friday 22 August 1952, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath   (via budddha)

(via budddha)

Oct 1, 2014 / 2,293 notes
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