I Am, As The Poets Say, Losing My Grip On Sanity

"Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one's surprise - in an entirely different world."

-Donna Tartt; The Secret History

Reblog this if you're the eldest daughter who had to mature at a really young age, were always seen as the 'quiet and unproblematic' one, were the overachiever of the family, were the so-called 'perfect child', so now you're literally terrified of doing anything wrong because you don't want to ruin your reputation and whenever you try to tell anyone about your fears or insecurities they just brush it off like "lol why would you think that you're worrying for no reason"

art galleries should be open 24hrs like what if I can’t sleep and wanna stare at a painting

“The problem with knowledge, is its inexhaustible craving. the more of it you have, the less you feel you know.”

- Olivie Blake , the atlas six

When Beatrice said “I would eat his heart in the marketplace." ” I felt that

He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Salma Deera, Letters from Medea

i blog for girls who are plagued by loneliness despite being overall well liked

Michael Cunningham, from “The Hours”