Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via feellng)
I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.
— Agatha Christie (via feellng)
Mom says it’s because she has PMS.
Do you even know what that means?
“I’m not a little kid anymore. It means pissed-at- men syndrome
—Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song (via feellng)
As the bruises fade, the lightning aches.
Last week, making love, you bit me.
Now the blue and dark have gone
and yellow bruises grow toward pale daffodils,
then paler to become until my body
is all my own and what that ever got me.
He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
— Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via feellng)