“Give me a few days of peace in your arms—I need it terribly. I’m ragged, worn, exhausted. After that I can face the world.”
— Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin, featured in A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953
LMAO 😂
Do not fight over dick
“I watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what’s called loving, as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.”
— Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea
If this is true...
“““You’re not a monster,” I said. But I lied. What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.””
—
— Ocean Vuong, from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”
“You’d like to imagine them at sea now, having grown tired of haunting your sleep.”
— Christine Kitano, “Ancestors” from Sky Country (via smokefalls)
Safia Elhillo, from Home Is Not a Country; “Boys”
arabic poetry is so beautifully yet painfully romantic, i mean “they asked “do you love her to death?” i said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life" and “because my love for you is higher than words, i've decided to fall silent" could have got jane austen crying and shaking
“I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day—mock me horribly!”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
From The Tragedy of Macbeth by William Shakespeare (1606).
"Even the moon cried for him to stay with me,but he left."
(lovers don't exist/siyah)
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