delta-breezes: CoCorina
Tag Archives: poetic
Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough. Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit (via mirroir)
Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice. F. Scott Fitzgerald (via palaisroyalparis)
I like her. She makes life interesting. She, herself, is interesting, I suppose. She talks right from the heart. I appreciate her frankness and I like the fact that she doesn’t force the natural flow of a conversation. There’s personality in her words. She thus gets to the core of things and that’s important because …
You have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness. Don Pedro to Benedick, in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing 5.4.41-42 (via yunoki)
You may blame Aphrodite soft as she is she has almost killed me with love for that boy Sappho, Blame Aphrodite (via thefairygarden)
Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted. Sylvia Plath, “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath” (via petrichour)
monachopsis
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.
Reblog if you wouldn’t mind if your partner had self harm scars. I want to prove a point to myself that I’m not repulsive.
My blood was in a fervent within me, my heart full of longing, sweetly and foolishly; I was all expectancy and wonder; I was tremulous and waiting; my fancy fluttered about the same images like martins round a bell tower at dawn; I dreamed and was sad and sometimes cried. But through the tears and …