I am a tireless romantic, too receptive to pain and perceptive to emotion to embrace carefree vanity. To hell with it! And may society condemn me if the value of a pretty face outweighs that of a beautiful soul.
Extract from The Social Media Generation
5 days ago // 11 notes
There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.
David Eagleman, Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives
3 weeks ago // 32 notes
“I really thought she loved you” I told him
Jake Snow Has Left The Building
“Yeah, and I know a million people who love The Godfather but wouldn’t sit through half of it” he replied with a graveyard smile.
5 months ago // 3 notes
His greatest, and most subtle, musical quality was his feeling for “the colors” of sound. Shifting from deep chest tones to light head notes, from spoken words to extended vibrato, from softly whispered tones to hard-hit words, he was so skillful at varying texture that old melodies always sounded new. And the changing timbres gave the words an expressiveness in which no shade of feeling, however delicate, tender, or painful, was lost.
Arnold Shaw, Sinatra: Twentieth Century Romantic (via fuckyeahthevoice)
8 months ago // 11 notes
Do you ever get the feeling that we started in the middle?
Or have you ever had the sense that we’ve been lying just a little?
I mean come on…
It’s not like we’ve known ourselves that long.
John Mayer - Tracing
8 months ago // 29 notes
I save your messages, just to hear your voice.
You always listen carefully to awkwards rhymes.
You always say your name,
Like I wouldn’t know it’s you…
At your most beautiful.
R.E.M - At My Most Beautiful
8 months ago // 4 notes
Soon all the joy that pours from everything makes fountains of your eyes,
Because you finally understand the movement of a hand waving good-bye.
Bright Eyes, The Movement Of A Hand
9 months ago // 7 notes
Does he love me? Does he love anyone more than me? Does he love me more than I love him? Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera (via drunkonliterature)
9 months ago // 921 notes
When you’re suicidal you renege on your contract with life, you stop committing to things and you stop caring about things. You don’t plan for a future which your soul tells you isn’t coming. That important essay remains a blank page; you don’t apply for that job you wanted. New-born siblings stay strangers and you watch passively as friendships crumble into dust.
9 months ago // 8 notes
Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself.
Jorge Luis Borges
9 months ago // 9 notes
Why don’t you tell me that ‘if the girl had been worth having, she’d have waited for you?’ No, sir, the girl really worth having won’t wait for anybody.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via m-oonlightdrive)
(Source: bavarde, via d-oused)
10 months ago // 5,694 notes