I Don't Want To Live Anymore

But books, like people, die. They die in fires or floods or in the mouths of worms or at the whims of tyrants. If they are not safeguarded, they go out of the world. And when a book goes out of the world, the memory dies a second death.

- cloud cuckoo land

live your life now. don’t save clothes for a time you’re happier in your body, don’t put off adventures because you think your friends would be happier without you there, don’t deprive yourself of good things just because you can’t see the good in yourself

-The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Novel by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Autumn is the season of cozy books, comfort sweaters, chai, earl grey, croissants and candles.

But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

- Madeline Miller, Circe

We are all stardust and stories.

- Erin Morgenstern, The Starless Sea

I hope you get to find your peace soon <3 sending hugs and sunflowers 🌻 🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

i no longer find the need to explain myself or the vast multitudes i contain.

some times what i feel is much too big, somehow entirely intangible and incomprehensible for the world at face value and i have made my peace with it.

i do, however, have a habit of leaving clues as footnotes, in digressions, in parentheses, and annotations in margins.

only those that pay attention may understand.

And there in the dark, he asks if it was really worth it.

Were the instants of joy worth the stretches of sorrow?

Were the moments of beauty worth the year of pain?

And she turns her head, and looks at him, and says,

'Always'.

-the invisible life of Addie LaRue by V.E Schwab

“I want you to tell me about every person you've ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn't think you'd live through. Tell me what the word "home" means to you and tell me in a way that I'll know your mother's name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8.

See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree?

And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they're sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother's joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you've been unkind. Tell me all the ways you've been cruel. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving.

And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people's wounds.”

— Andrea Gibson