December 2011
November 2011
“The only people who ever get anyplace interesting are the people who get lost....”
– Henry David Thoreau (via absea)
“Feel, feel, I say—feel for all you’re worth, and even if it half kills you, for...”
– Henry James, in a letter to Clare Sheridan (via leopoldgursky)
“What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love....”
– Victor Hugo (via clavicola)
“At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.”
–
Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin (via leopoldgursky)
“June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who...”
– Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s (via knockturn)
“I did not begin when I was born, nor when I was conceived. I have been growing,...”
– Jack London, The Star Rover (via pax-caelestis)
“I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”
– Sylvia Plath (via misswallflower)
“I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.”
– On the Road, Jack Kerouac (via holdenandcaulfield)
“Most of the dandelions had changed from suns into moons.”
– Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via more-weight)
