I will hold you:
everything’s going to be fine.

I will whisper:
It won’t always be like this.

—Franz Wright, from To Myself (via violentwavesofemotion)

How many places in the body were made to be destroyed once?

—From “Ode to the Hymen” by Sharon Olds  (via denisejollyspoken)



“To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.”

— Cseslaw Milosz

I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.

—Anne Sexton (via blackestdespondency)

(via blackestdespondency)

You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you’re trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

—Margaret Atwood, “A Sad Child” (via larmoyante)

It is necessary to fall in love, if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.

— Albert Camus (via mariannapaige)

(via mariannapaige)

Quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you’re doomed.

—Ray Bradbury (via writingquotes)

A soul mate is not the person
who makes you the happiest, but the one
that makes you feel the most.
Who conducts your heart to bang the loudest,
who can drag you giggling
with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.

—Sierra DeMulder, excerpt from “Unrequited Love Poem” (via hellanne)

(via adaperio)

Wounds, I think, are never confined to a single skin, but reach out to rasp us all. When you die, there’s that much less breath to the world, and across continents someone supposedly separate gasps for air.

—Lauren Slater - Three Spheres (via hellodahlie)

Instead of things I’m good at, it might be faster to list the things I can’t do. I can’t cook or clean the house. My room’s a mess, and I’m always losing things. I love music, but I can’t sing a note. I’m clumsy and can barely sew a stitch. My sense of direction is the pits, and I can’t tell left from right half the time. When I get angry, I tend to break things. Plates and pencils, alarm clocks. Later on I regret it, but at the time I can’t help myself. I have no money in the bank. I’m bashful for no reason, and I have hardly any friends to speak of.


“I learned that just beneath the surface there’s another world, and still different worlds as you dig deeper.  I knew it as a kid, but I couldn’t find the proof.  It was just a kind of feeling.  There is goodness in blue skies and flowers, but another force—a wild pain and decay—also accompanies everything.”

—David Lynch  

(Source: kdecember, via journalofanobody)