Dream Lessons: It’s the last poem you wrote before... →
literarycollective: It’s the last poem you wrote before your first cigarette. You were on the train, alone, your shoulders hunched and your head hung down even though the rain was only outside and you were in there, going where you were going, safe. Your hands didn’t shake, your eyes didn’t blink - this was…
The warmth of your smile colours your cheeks and adds light to your eyes, and the sharp pleasure it brings, is as unexpected as it is sweet.
When the night grows longer and day all but disappears beneath clouds of grey, the body seeks refuge from the harsh winds, burying chilled veins under duvets of warm flesh. And the soul longs for blue skies, where the light shines clear, and thoughts soar like dreams, unfettered.
Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You...– Linda Pastan, “A New Poet” (via soulsublime )
The heart has reasons that reason does not understand.– Jacques Benigne Bossuel
Why do you weep? Did you think I was immortal?– last words of Louis XIV (via fleeten)
She gave me for my pains a world of kisses.– Othello (via papercrushed)
Character is fate– Thomas Hardy
dreamlessons: not a single one of us deserves the sinking feeling that comes as the sun rises, when the light through the blinds starts to cast the shadows of all your doubts and you remember what happened last night or two weekends ago or on your fifteenth birthday, that thing that happened that changed everything and burnt its language into the black of your eyes so even as you squint them shut...
She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon’s most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air.
Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.– J. K. Rowling (via tror)
Your present circumstances don’t determine where you can go; they merely...– Nido Qubein
Her position was, indeed, to a marked degree one that, in the common phrase, afforded much to be thankful for. That she was not demonstratively thankful was no fault of hers…when the one to whom such unbroken tranquility had been accorded in the adult stage was she whose youth had seemed to teach that happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.