You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.

Albert Camus (via generic-art)
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Wake me up when my bones are alight and my limbs thaw from the ice.

1:46 am (via peta-grace)
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  • 1 week ago
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I miss you deeply,
unfathomably, senselessly,
terribly.

Franz Kafka (via larmoyante)
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I’ve been prepared for almost anything; except absence, except silence.

Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)
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I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.

Isabelle Eberhardt, The Nomad: The Diaries of Isabelle Eberhardt (via mythologyofblue)
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  • 2 weeks ago
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I knew when I said
I love you
that I was inventing a new alphabet
for a city where no one could read
that I was saying my poems
in an empty theater
and pouring my wine
for those who could not
taste it.

Nizar Qabbani (1957)
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I may speak like a woman, but my throat
is a lovely murder, a dark tent.

Kristy Bowen, "Girl Show" (via dolorimeter)
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Suddenly you’re ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you’re alive and its spectacular.

Joseph Campbell   (via 5000letters)
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…but now I know there is something blacker than desire.

Sarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis (via dolorimeter)
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I fished this poem out of the drain,
and forgot to clean up the mess before you came home.
You don’t say anything about the ghosts in the
corner of the room or the tree branches I hang
like a chandelier over my bed to remind me
that I am not the only one who has lost parts of herself.
If there is another name for being loved like this
then I haven’t learned it yet.
If there is another name for being forgiven like this,
then it must be yours.
This isn’t supposed to be an apology,
but I am sorry most days anyway.
Sorry about the holes in my bones.
Sorry about the guns I keep loaded,
just in case something haunted still lives in a closet somewhere.
Sorry about the well I almost drowned in,
Sorry I’m always chasing dreams down the wrong rabbit holes.
Sorry I keep shrinking myself down.
If there is something else you wanted to hear from me,
then I am sorry about that, too.
I am constantly making apologies,
but you’re never one of them.
What I mean to say,
is I love you even on the days
I don’t know what love is.
Even on the days I am sure
it doesn’t belong with me.

Y.Z, Wishful thinking (via rustyvoices)
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  • 2 weeks ago
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…a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only

Edgar Allan Poe, “Dreamland”  (via wordsnquotes)
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  • 3 weeks ago
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I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted
breaking
globe

but I can show you
baby
enough to love
to break your heart
forever

Diane di Prima, “Song for Baby-O, Unborn” (via dolorimeter)
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