• 1st February
    2012
  • 01
It was the kind of kiss I could never tell my friends about out loud. It was the kind of kiss that made me know I was never so happy in my whole life.
Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower (via simply-quotes)
  • 1st February
    2012
  • 01
  • 1st February
    2012
  • 01
Standing against fat-shaming ensures that everyone gets to make private decisions about the state of their body, and that everyone gets to have those decisions respected, whether they decide to lose weight, or to be contentedly fat, or to dye their hair green, or to get lots of piercings or tattoos — other people’s bodies are none of your business, not to touch, to judge, or to publicly comment upon.
  • 31st January
    2012
  • 31
  • 31st January
    2012
  • 31
One makes mistakes, gets led astray, digresses. If one could see one’s crooked progress as a kind of experiment, without wishing for an impossible security – nothing interesting happens without daring – some kind of stillness might be attained. You can, of course, experiment with your own life. Maybe you shouldn’t do it with other people’s.
  • 30th January
    2012
  • 30
Am I in love? —yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments (via shipodreams)
  • 30th January
    2012
  • 30
For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
Fr. Alfred D’Souza (via leslieseuffert)
  • 29th January
    2012
  • 29
  • 29th January
    2012
  • 29
  • 28th January
    2012
  • 28
Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.
Haruki Murakami (via venebelle)
  • 28th January
    2012
  • 28
  • 27th January
    2012
  • 27
  • 27th January
    2012
  • 27
  • 27th January
    2012
  • 27
  • 26th January
    2012
  • 26