June 2013
“Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.”
—Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha (via theblackquill)
May 2013
“At the end, all that’s left of you are your possessions. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never been able to throw anything away. Perhaps that’s why I hoarded the world: with the hope that when I died, the sum total of my things would suggest a life larger than the one I lived.”
—Nicole Krauss, The History of Love (via theblackquill)
“For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.” —W. B. Yeats, Selected Poems and Four Plays (via theblackquill)
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.” —W. B. Yeats, Selected Poems and Four Plays (via theblackquill)
Scars
Paparoach
papa roach // scars
i tear my heart open, i sew myself shut.
