Vous êtes belles, mais vous êtes vides…. on ne peut pas mourir pour vous. ...– The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupéry (via sore-thumbelina)
milktrees: i can’t love anything any more.
Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall...– Richard Siken (astroblemes: poetbabble) (via mkarmstr) (via aerialcircus) (via leprintemps)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands by...
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if your...
It Is Not So Much That I Miss You by Dorothea...
It is not so much that I miss you as the remembering which I suppose is a form of missing except more positive, like the time of the blackout when fear was my first response followed by love of the dark.
The Two Times I Loved You the Most in A Car by...
It was your idea to park and watch the elephants swaying among the trees like royalty at that make-believe safari near Laguna. I didn’t know anything that big could be so quiet. And once, you stopped on a dark desert road, to show me the stars climbing over each other riotously like insects; like an orchestra thrashing its way through time itself. I never saw light that way again.
I don’t mean to close the door But for the record my heart is sore You blew...– Cocorosie (via youarebonbon)
The cure for anything is salt water, sweat, tears, or the sea.– Isak Dinesen (via virginiawoolf) (via orientaltiger) (via somesecretstories) (via rememo)
French women have to be married, so they can have affairs.– My dad [on Anna Karina’s character in A Woman is a Woman] (via yehyehgrace)
It was the laughter, the carefree laughter, the three-dimensional Coca-Cola...– Elliot Perlman, “Seven Types of Ambiguity” (via ninitav) (via sarahwindy)
bunnymitford: Joanna Newsom - Jackrabbits I...
Jag fanns inte, jag fanns, jag finns inte längre, jag bryr mig inte.– I wasn’t, I was, I no longer exist, I do not care. (Non fui, fui, non sum, non curo) (via serpentskirt) (via milktrees)