I Wonder If Someone Has Ever Thought Of Me So Much At Night That They Couldn’t Sleep

“I feel sorry for us, because we are too afraid to call ourselves beautiful in fear of being told differently.”

— S. Renea

"the feminine urge to compliment another woman."

-bleeding hands

“And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.”

— Paul Schmidtberger, Design Flaws of the Human Condition 

"That is why I write to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance."

-Paulo Coelho

"Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

-John Keating; Dead Poets Society

“how many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”

— 𝘝𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘢 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘧

"We are captives of what we love, what we desire and what we are".

- Mahmoud Darwish

“Politeness has become so rare that people mistake it for flirtation.”

— (via psych-facts)

He’d never cared much for strawberries, but that summer her lips were so stained with the juices that they were all he tasted.

And he’d never had a favourite fruit, but two years later, a new girl is sat in front of him, laughing at his jokes.

“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?” She asks playfully.

And he remembers how her hands traced the veins in his neck and made their way across his chest. He remembers her soft breathing and limbs draped across his shoulders.

“Strawberries.” He tells her. “I could live a life on nothing but strawberries.”