Everybody says sex is obscene. The only true obscenity is war.
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (via larmoyante)
1/8/2014 . 3,116 notes . Reblog

You didn’t love her. You just didn’t want to be alone. Or maybe, maybe she was good for your ego. Or maybe she made you feel better about your miserable life, but you didn’t love her, because you don’t destroy the person that you love.


(via kangalex)

Always reblog

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It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on this earth as though I had a right to be here.
James Baldwin (via cosmofilius)
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fohk:

The Sandlot clinton burger

fohk:

The Sandlot clinton burger

1/8/2014 . 595 notes . Reblog
2029980:

"We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. We develop all those long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality of our lives in different ways, without really extending our body of worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things."
Trainspotting (1996)

2029980:

"We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. We develop all those long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality of our lives in different ways, without really extending our body of worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things."

Trainspotting (1996)

1/8/2014 . 1,664 notes . Reblog
incrdblyclose:

perfect.

incrdblyclose:

perfect.

31/7/2014 . 261 notes . Reblog
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes, or it seems to, but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m okay, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.

Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche New York

(via jonndlr)
31/7/2014 . 302 notes . Reblog