Seriously! So much temptation in bookstores. Last time I was in one I ate a whole chocolate cake by myself, while stabbing some guy.
(Source: whereallthelightsarebright)
Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own (via helplesslyamazed)
(Source: quote-book)
It didn’t matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn’t heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.
Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides (via helplesslyamazed)
(Source: quote-book)
You think I’m lying. I’m not lying.
If I’m the bottom, you’re the top,
the foppish parakeet-eyed soldier
with the dog. A derelict motel
& a shabby room. I sold your likeness
for a quick poll on usefulness.
Turns out I’m useless. If I’m your favorite
game, I’m Risk. The walls soak up
our language. The ceiling drips it.
You’re so risque. Briskly, you strip
my continents of their use, put
your boot down hard on my base,
its basest ambitions. If I’m humbled,
it’s at your feet. A sheet snakes across
the headboard. The loop we tape
won’t be your basic hardcore.
If I’m to have hope, you too
must have hope. You think I’m lying?
I’m not that smart. I’ve always been
more sleeve than heart.
If I’m the bottom, you’re the top,
the foppish parakeet-eyed soldier
with the dog. A derelict motel
for a quick poll on usefulness.
Turns out I’m useless. If I’m your favorite
game, I’m Risk. The walls soak up
You’re so risque. Briskly, you strip
my continents of their use, put
your boot down hard on my base,
it’s at your feet. A sheet snakes across
the headboard. The loop we tape
won’t be your basic hardcore.
must have hope. You think I’m lying?
I’m not that smart. I’ve always been
more sleeve than heart.
Samuel Wharton, Humiliation Pictures (via theoryoflostthings)
(via theoryoflostthings)
3 days ago - 
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The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.
Charles Bukowski, Ham On Rye (via notdeathniggadeaf)
(Source: runningfromadream, via eyedea-lives)
(via booksalon)
‘nuff said.
Pro-tip: Drink whiskey to thin your blood so that you can bleed more.
(Source: stevens-cat, via leahpowelllove)
Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself
William Faulkner (via howardtuniverse)
One of the saddest things is that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can’t eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours—all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.
William Faulkner (via litpursuits)
One of the most perfect quotes in the world I think, from the beautiful book The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. Can be found on on the first page on the book, after the dedications and publication information.
(via leahpowelllove)
A beautiful quote from the first page of The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, Clare’s point of view in case you didn’t pick that up.
