But 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 (via likeafieldmouse)
(Reblogged from likeafieldmouse)
anachronisticfairytales:

Ida Rentoul Outhwaite

anachronisticfairytales:

Ida Rentoul Outhwaite

(Reblogged from breakmyheartonsunnydays)
There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
Vincent van Gogh (via sad-plath)

(Source: sad-plath)

(Reblogged from quienesesachica)
If you look at the fact that you have a roof over your head, food to eat, that you are young and beautiful and live in a peaceful land, then no, you have nothing to be sad about. But the fact is, we are not only a physical body, we have souls too, and sometimes our souls get sick. If you break a leg you don’t just say ‘I have no reason to have a broken leg’ and ignore it; you seek help. It’s the same when your soul gets hurt. Don’t apologize for being sad.
My doctor when I told her I had no reason to be sad (via hrive-ithiliel)
(Reblogged from livefreefindquiet)
We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.
Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story (via larmoyante)
(Reblogged from livefreefindquiet)
(Reblogged from botterman)
You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena.  (via reap)

(Source: wordsnquotes)

(Reblogged from tumblerete)
You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via aiux)

(Source: larmoyante)

(Reblogged from zapoyy)
The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.
Oscar Wilde (via psych-facts)
(Reblogged from annacorinaa)
I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.
Gail Caldwell, Let’s Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship (via larmoyante)
(Reblogged from annacorinaa)