“Fiction is a fantastic way of looking out through somebody else’s eyes. You get to experience loss and tragedy and death. But experience these things in a form which means that when you close the pages and put the book back on the shelf, it’s over and you’re home and you’re safe”— Neil Gaiman, during an interview with Robin Young on Here and Now (via la-arboleda)
“…I have to know that I can love somebody. Completely and totally, permanently and without hope of reward, just as an act of will, I will love somebody.”—Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters (via misswallflower)
“If you’ve been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.”—C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (via pigmenting)
“When a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear. For as long as the story goes on, reality no longer exists.”—Paul Auster, The Brooklyn Follies (via misswallflower)
“I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”—Harry Burns, When Harry Met Sally (via thatkindofwoman)
“I hope you have the courage to pursue someone who is worth pursuing, and not someone who is convenient. Convenience is impatience disguised as your desires, you are worth more than what time has told you, you are worthy of finding someone who will wait for you; don’t settle for what is easy, settle for what is good.”—T.B. LaBerge // Go Now (via thatkindofwoman)
“You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I always made you feel. Like you were the centre of my world. Because you were. I would have done anything for you.”—Abby McDonald, Getting Over Garrett Delaney (via dolly-kitten)
“The first person who saw your face was delighted by you. Isn’t that something? You managed to bring joy only by breathing.
Your mother will occasionally peek through the cracks of your door when you are sleeping, even now, to make sure that she can see the movements of your chest.
The boy who kissed you in the park last night isn’t in love with you, he won’t even stay, but he meant every second of those minutes.
You’ll walk a city street that your feet have never touched before and you’ll be terrified of getting lost and that feeling is what’ll help you find the way home.
You’ll give your money to a homeless man and he will hold your hand firmly between his and he will say ‘thank you so, so much’ and isn’t that something?
There’s a piece of music that makes your heart feel like it’s bleeding. Listen to it. Listen to it again.
When was the last time you paused to stare at night time?
Did you know that there is at least one person in your life who will jump in front of a hail of bullets for you, without your asking.
Your entire body is made of nerves. Feel things.
Take walks in places you’ve never been.
Take photographs of people not everyone considers beautiful. Find loveliness in them.
Let go of the things that are killing you from the inside out.
One day you’re going to be part of the sky, you’re going to be that beautiful and that necessary but not today. Not today.”—
“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.”—
When Bukowski lays in bed everyone is impressed. Wow, Bukowski, you’ve really captured the essence of the feeling of desirable loneliness, they say. Oh Bukowski, we love you and your haphazard, grizzled form of literary wisdom.
But, you know, when I lay in bed, nobody is impressed. Wow, Soycrates, how lazy. Get up. Go take a shower. You’re sweaty and gross. Do something productive. Go for a jog or something. Who do you think you are, Bukowski.
For just one day i’d love to have Bukowski privilege where everything lazy, mundane, sweaty and narcissistic I do is perceived as grizzled literary wisdom.