• An Oxford Comma Walks Into A Bar, Where It Spends The Evening Watching The Television, Getting Drunk,

Rewatching Taare Zameen Par, bawling my eyes out, being totally mentally wrecked etc etc. Nice cycle this.

❝i never imagined my career would turn out the way it has. after all, i'm just a kid from rosario who loves to play football.❞

happy birthday to world cup winner, lionel messi ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊⊹

Seeing a negative review of a book I hate: my beloved brother in arms, the smartest and most beautiful person in the room, we are staring into each other's eyes and there is a place in my heart just for you. nobody understands you like I do

Seeing a negative review of a book I love: I spit on you. You are intellectually and morally beneath me. Clearly you didn't understand the book because you're thick in the head. May moths eat your garments.

every year someone on this hellsite invents a new way to dehumanize and trivialize people who do not believe in religion or supernatural things and then it gets hundreds of notes its sooo amazing lmao

I wish I could describe how this book made me feel. It’s almost astronomical, the array of emotions and feelings that emerged straight from the soul as I flipped each page. The detail, the love, the uncertainty - to describe it with the fewest words, it’s magnificently unpredictable.

The characters, each one of them, inscribed something deep within my spirit. The love and bonding between Marie-Laure and her father, Etienne and his demons, and Werner and his sister, Frederick and his birds, and his powerful resentment towards something wrong - his power. Madam Manec with her peach jams and the big pot where she carried all the love. The big museum with its exhibits, all those herbarium sheets and fossils, and the curse of a diamond that was equivalent to eight Eiffel Towers that should've been thrown out into the deep trenches of the oceans long ago, but only an insane would throw eight Eiffel Towers into the unknown. Papa, with his crafty hands, built the whole of Paris with his bare hands. Marie-Laure is so unaware of what everything around her looks like, yet she hears the very minor details. Jutta, the little girl who had a mind of her own, who had words of her own, and her elder brother, who was nothing by himself, who really lived under the shadows of others, had a heart so weak to resent, too weak to fight, that the heart decided to do what everyone else was doing - a heart scared of rebellion. Frau Elena served the abandoned children till her very last breath, showering those nameless breathing corpses with so much love. Von Rumpel and his war - his war with the world, his quest to find the cursed diamond, his greed, his unfathomable hatred, his desire and passion for war and victory, his dying body, his quest for immortality that the diamond is rumored to confer on anyone who possesses it, his selfish greed, his undying fear of the unknown,and, his trembling fear of death.

The depths that this particular book touched are unmatchable. It feels like loose sand slipping through your fingers, and the helplessness that comes with it - the haunting beauty of the magnificent pain of separation, of lost identities, and of lost people. It’s remarkable. Anthony Doerr, you are a genius.

Growing up in a dysfunctional joint family really f*cks you up in ways that leave you scarred forever.

Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’

[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]