Daily dose of my thoughts

Mary Anne. Potterhead. Bookworm. Asian. 10 April. 16. Poetry. Music. Unfinished lines. Pessimist. Letranite

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Osho (via cosmofilius)

(Source: dirtyflowerchild, via panta-rhea)

Looking at the sunset, just for a second you forget your separateness: you are the sunset. That is the moment when you feel the beauty of it. But the moment you say that it is a beautiful sunset, you are no longer feeling it; you have come back to your separate, enclosed entity of ego. Now the mind is speaking. And this is one of the mysteries, that the mind can speak and knows nothing; and the heart knows everything, and cannot speak. Perhaps to know too much makes it difficult to speak; the mind knows so little, it is possible for it to speak.

Tabitha Suzuma, A Voice in the Distance (via blackestdespondency)

(via le-manja)

They say that depression makes you see everything in a negative light. I disagree. It makes you see things for what they are. It makes you take off the fucking rose-tinted glasses and look around and see the world as it really is- cruel, harsh and unfair. It makes you see people in their true colours- stupid, shallow and self-absorbed. All that ridiculous optimism, all that carpe diem and life-is-what-you-make-of-it. Words, just empty words in an attempt to give meaning to an existence that is both doomed and futile.

Daphne du Maurier 

Everything you love is here

(via lovequotesrus)

(Source: likeafieldmouse, via lovequotesrus)

But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.
does it ever kill you when you make conversation with the person youve been looking forward to talking to the entire day and they just kinda brush you off

(Source: dlubes, via impassionedmelancholy)

Can we hold on to the pieces and float to the surface, can you tell me, is it worth it? By Jamilex Castillo (takemeback-)

(Source: takemeback-, via thecounterclockworld)

Day by day
We lose each other
trying to replace the person we love
with someone other
than ourselves
and I don’t understand
why we can’t work this out
why we can’t sit down
and try to speak out
instead we sit by the phone
waiting for the other to give in
because our mouths are to afraid
to say what’s within
and lately I don’t know what to do
except hold on to the hope
that you still love me too
and lately
I don’t know what to think
is love this fragile
Is our love a sunken ship?

Donna Tartt, author of The Secret History (via vintageanchorbooks)

(via booklover)

The first duty of the novelist is to entertain. It is a moral duty. People who read your books are sick, sad, traveling, in the hospital waiting room while someone is dying. Books are written by the alone for the alone.

Chimamamda Ngozi Adiche at TEDxEuston  (via onefitmodel)

(Source: messyandscattered, via do-we-still-exist)

We teach girls shame; close your legs, cover yourself, we make them feel as though by being born female they’re already guilty of something.

Unknown  (via schlafwandel)

(Source: quotethat, via do-we-still-exist)

Everyone’s just looking for reasons to wake up and get out of bed, some do it for nothing but a kiss, perhaps a cup of coffee, others have a harder time; no train to catch, no hand to hold, no reasons at all.
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