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Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery - Anne Sexton
144"It’s always right now." - Mason, from Boyhood

(Source: brauntm, via arzou)

187"To live is to be
uncertain." - Erica Jong, from You Are There
388"You want to think something, you always have the impression that it’s all right, that you’re going to understand and then it slips, it escapes you and fades away." - Jean-Paul Sartre, from The Wall
780"Please destroy me, please destroy me, please destroy me." - Devendra Banhart

(Source: diplomatsdaughter)

465"She changes from a girl into a boy and back to a girl carelessly and happily. She sleeps easily and beautifully and you will sleep too because all you truly know is that you feel good." - Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden
1125"If this was us meeting for the first time, I’d do it all again. The fucks, the fuck-ups, everything." - Skins (2010)
201"My novel is going nowhere, I don’t have an income, I’m quite evidently insane. I can’t work, and yet I know I’ll become completely sterile if I can’t have this girl. I would never have thought I could be so foolish as this. And the knowledge of my own folly gives me happiness to cancel out my unhappiness, and I am more confused than ever […] With all my skepticism, for all my self-analysis, I’m in love. And I know it’s poison." - Joseph Roth, from a letter to Friedrich Trangott Gubler
265"But you are a poet and need not go into the fields to bring back flowers. Don’t complain about not having learned. There is nothing to know. Even what is called technical competence is not properly speaking knowledge, because it does not exist outside of the mysterious association of our memory and the skill acquired by our own inventiveness when it comes in contact with words. Knowledge, in the sense of a thing that is all done outside ourselves and that can be learned as in the sciences, counts for nothing in art. On the contrary, it is when the scientific connections between words have disappeared from our minds and have taken on a life in which the chemical elements are forgotten in a new individuality, that the technique, the skill that recognizes their antipathies, humors their wishes, knows their beauty, conveys their forms, assorts their affinities, can begin. And this exists only when a creature is a soul and no longer so much carbon, so much phosphorus, etc. So you love words, you don’t harm them, you play with them, you confide your secrets to them, you teach them how to paint, you teach them how to sing." - Marcel Proust, from The Letters Of Marcel Proust
799"I’m half afraid of myself. I sometimes feel that no one ever has or ever can share something—It’s the thing that makes you call me like a hill, or a rock. Again, I want everything—love, adventure, intimacy, work. (Can you make any sense out of this ramble? I am putting down one thing after another.) So I go from being half in love with you, and wanting you to be with me always, and known everything about me, to the extreme of wildness and aloofness." - Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Leonard Woolf
137"How strange!—it makes me laugh. You imagine I imagine you are mean—how mean of me! I could never mean that you are mean or even slightly mercenary, for I know,—need I tell you so, that you’re generous more than ordinary. How could you think that I should sink to such a depth of base suggestion?—it makes me blush and crimson flush to be the object of such a question. But what ever made you think such things? I never for a moment doubt your splendid generosity—nor doubt you in any way except to wonder whether I shall ever get you: You are very fantastical, my dear, in your imaginings: they really amuse me, like Alice in Wonderland." - D.H. Lawrence, from a letter to Louie Burrows
393"I’m quite naturally a loving, affectionate person. But then, even that can get to be a bore." - Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters
234"I zapped into your life and I’m so glad I did. I’ll never really zap out." - Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters
319"You accepted my desire to leave you free, free of everything. You knew I meant it. But as soon as as I freed you of all anxiety, you went back to your self-engrossed life. And I knew it. Friday I said to myself: I won’t let Henry come. He loves me selfishly, only for the good things. He doesn’t really care about me. And today you proved it. You felt well, healthy, carefree. You didn’t care about my life. You saw me after ten days and were cold. You didn’t even caress me. You didn’t come into the house to be gentle, after your callousness. You killed it. You say I’m touchy. So are you. Only, I spend my life watching over your touchiness. It may be touchy to want to talk to you as I did today—confide in you—and get the response I got. The only time I leaned on you, needed you. I needed you, Henry! The truth is you are completely happy in Clichy, alone. I will see that you will continue to have your security, your independence. But that is all, Henry. All the rest is dead." - Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Henry Miller
638"Anyway, my soul is hungup right now and I gotta make a move soon…" - Jack Kerouac, from a letter to Neal Cassady
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