Words

He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.

(Source: yrie, via passionately--curious)

Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.

(Source: yogachocolatelove, via sineadmarguerite)

The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live.

(Source: yourstruly-kayla, via liketheopensea)

I may be cynical when I say that very rarely is the beloved more than a shaping spirit for the lover’s dreams. And perhaps such a thing is enough. To be a muse may be enough. The pain is when the dreams change, as they do, as they must. Suddenly the enchanted city fades and you are left alone again in the windy desert. As for your beloved, she didn’t understand you. The truth is, you never understood yourself.

So let the city do as it must and break us down
to dust and skeletons. I’m just beginning.

(via clavicola)

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget….Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.

(via loveyourchaos)

It’s not the load that breaks you down. It’s the way you carry it.

(Source: seabois, via passionately--curious)

Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.

(Source: quote-book, via liketheopensea)

Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you?

In the fossil record of our existence, there is no trace of love. You cannot find it held in the earth’s crust, waiting to be discovered. The long bones of our ancestors show nothing of their hearts. Their last meal is sometimes preserved in peat or in ice, but their thoughts and feelings are gone.

(Source: weissewiese, via esuriens)

I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience?

(via nobunnyluvsyou)