"Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don’t fool."
— Robert Brault
(Source: creatingaquietmind)
- 4 days ago
- 24087
"I always feel like a freak, because I’m never able to move on like this, you know? People just have an affair, or even entire relationships; they break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals. I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with. Because each person had their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost. Each relationship, when it ends, really damages me. I never fully recover. That’s why I’m very careful with getting involved, because it hurts too much. Even getting laid; I actually don’t do that. I will miss the most mundane things of the person. Like I’m obsessed with little things. Maybe I’m crazy, but when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late for school. One day she followed me to see why; I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk, or ants crossing the road; the way a leaf cast a shadow on a tree trunk; little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see little details in them, so specific to each of them, that move me, and that I miss, and will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. Like I remember the way your beard has a bit of red in it. And how the sun was making it glow that morning, right before you left. I remember that, and I missed it. I’m really crazy, right?"
— Richard Linklater
(Source: hellanne)
- 1 week ago
- 780
"You didn’t love her. You just didn’t want to be alone. Or maybe, maybe she was good for your ego. Or maybe she made you feel better about your miserable life, but you didn’t love her, because you don’t destroy the person that you love."
— Callie Torres, The Heart of the Matter
(Source: greys-anatomy-quotes)
- 1 week ago
- 75156
"I have always been tormented by the image of multiplicity of selves. Some days I call it richness; and some other days I see it as a disease, a proliferation as dangerous as cancer. My first concept about the people around me was that all of them were coordinated into a whole, whereas I was made up of multitudes of selves, of fragments. I know I was upset as a child to discover that we had only one life. It seems to me that I wanted to compensate for this by multiplying experience. Or perhaps it always seems like this when you follow all your impulses and they take you in different directions. In any case, when I was happy, always at the beginning of a love, euphoric, I felt I was gifted for living many lives fully. It was only when I was in trouble, lost in a maze, stifled by complications and paradoxes that I was haunted or that I spoke of my “madness”, but I meant the madness of the poets."
— Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anaïs Nin, Volume I 1931-1934
- 2 weeks ago
- 172
"And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened."
— Douglas Coupland, Life After God
(Source: cad-y)
- 2 weeks ago
- 27
"What kills love? Only this: Neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the mornings, make use of you at night. To crave another while pecking your cheek. To say your name without hearing it, to assume it is mine to call."
— Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body
[source]
- 1 month ago
- 1727
"I love everything that flows, everything that has time in it and becoming, that brings us back to the beginning where there is never end: the violence of the prophets, the obscenity that is ecstasy, the wisdom of the fanatic, the priest with his rubber litany, the foul words of the whore, the spittle that floats away in the gutter, the milk of the breast and the bitter honey that pours from the womb, all that is fluid, melting, dissolute and dissolvent, all the pus and dirt that in flowing is purified, that loses its sense of origin, that makes the great circuit toward death and dissolution. The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought."
— Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
[source]
- 1 month ago
- 31
