I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. It’s probably not even real.
— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via larmoyante)
But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together.
— Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via petrichour)
Perfectly able to hold my own hand.
But I still can’t kiss my own neck.
— Wye Oak, Civilian (via her0inchic)
Do you know how much thinking and feeling I’ve done? It’s terrible. And nothing’s come of it.
— Platonov, Andrei. Happy Moscow. (via asimetricna-vagina)