January 2010
“I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness,...”
– Charles Bukowski (via jeanniepak) (via spermdump) (via nyred) (via vild) (via iwantmybearsuit)
“There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do...”
– Neil Gaiman (via expose)
“Man’s conscience doesn’t determine his existence. His social being determines...”
– Masculin féminin: 15 faits précis (Jean-Luc Godard, 1966) (via fuckyeahexistentialism) (via fuckyeahfrenchcinema)
“Don’t you get it? She’s the house! She’s the plain white shutters, the sparkling...”
– Chuck Palahnuik, Diary (via myotonia) (via eemmaa) (via infinitebutterflies)
Perks of Being A Wallflower
I don’t want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can’t think again. Not ever again. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why...
“She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same...”
– Milan Kundera
sandysays | suzywire
(via silentsigh)
