quote – Page 5 – darknesstohislight

She wanted to say ‘Don’t leave me,’ but she couldn’t do it, not again. She was so tired of begging people to love her.

Kristin Hannah, The Nightingale
(via theliteraryjournals)

I think… if it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.

Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (via 7-weeks)

You don’t tell people you’re not okay,” she said, “Because it’s hard watching them not know what to do.
Then you end up comforting them, even though the one who needed comforting was you.

Sue Zhao

(via sad-empty)

It’s pouring, the trees are getting greener before my eyes, I love you. I’m almost afraid of the intensity of this happiness.

Vladimir Nabokov, from Letters to Véra tr. by Olga Voronina & Brian Boyd
(via achillespatrxclus)

I don’t want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.

Georges Bataille – My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man. (via empiregrotesk)

Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.

Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride (via sealedtome)

i can’t uncouple these in my mind

(via sobriquetinbedgrowyrhair)

In a book about Indians I once read that the soul cannot fly as fast as an airplane. Therefore one always loses one’s soul on an airplane journey and arrives at one’s destination in a soulless state. In any case, this is the reason why travelers most often lack souls. And so tales of long journeys are always written without souls.

Yoko Tawada (via floriental)

It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.

Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger (via booksqouted)

How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream. Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all? Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, or not marrying, our mothers? Or divorcing, or not divorcing, our mothers? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing, or leaning? For shutting doors or speaking through walls? For never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it. If we forgive our fathers, what is left?

Thomas Builds-the-Fire, Smoke Signals (Sherman Alexie)

I won’t glorify or romanticize heartbreak, for me it was a kind of death and I was forced to keep living.

Warsan Shire (via likeabirb)