Theme Credit | ©
Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor. —James Joyce (via philphys)
Love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it. —Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via creatingaquietmind)
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. —Charles Bukowski (via lavvandede)
blacktphotography: Rocky Votolato at the Garage, London.

blacktphotography:

Rocky Votolato at the Garage, London.

I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much. —

Sandra Cisneros, The House On Mango Street (via cigrette)

(I heart House on Mango Street)

(Source: boxofoctaves)
Human beings cling to their delicious tyrannies and exquisite nonsense until death stares them in the face. —Sydney Smith
those who escape hell
however
never talk about
it
and nothing much
bothers them
after
that. —Charles Bukowski (via amseln)