I don’t know what’s the matter with me—why I’m so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumour.
— David Shields (via halfaxas)


Because you are the one she loves, please love her more than I do.

그녀를 사랑해줘요 

Everything you love is here

(via lovequotesrus)








Fjaðrárgljúfur. South Iceland.



Hemingway and James Joyce were drinking buddies in Paris. Joyce was thin and bespectacled; Hemingway was tall and strapping. When they went out Joyce would get drunk, pick a fight with a bigger guy in the bar and then hide behind Hemingway and yell, “Deal with him, Hemingway. Deal with him.”

[x] (via newzerokaneda)

Between this and the story about him reassuring F. Scott Fitzgerald re dick size, I’m developing a picture of Hemingway as the mother hen of the disaffected white male literary set of the early 20th century.

He probably called up Steinbeck sometimes and was like I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE DIPSHITS and Steinbeck was all “That’s what you get for living in Paris, asshole”.

(via copperbadge)





leslieseuffert:

House of Ismay

House of Ismay offers since 2008 brooches using old book pages retrieved, cut and pasted in various forms, corresponding with the talent original books at the image of “Of Mice And Men” by John Steinbeck.





Things could change so entirely, in a heartbeat; the world could be made entirely anew, because someone was kind.
— Jo Baker, Longbourn  (via anditslove)


I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.

Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.

But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the bus is coming.







I should find solace in other things. But I can’t…



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