We wear clothes, and speak, and create civilizations, and believe we are more than wolves. But inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce and that is who we are.
—
(Source: larmoyante)
(Source: fairycastle, via i-am-the-oracular-spectacular)
(via jules1381)
(Source: all-things-bright-and-beyootiful, via intothebright)
“No, don’t do that. They’ll put it on tumblr and you don’t want that. NO! STOP!”
(Source: cheekyjackharries, via the-absolute-funniest-posts)
(via monochrom-atic)
=
(Source: ijustwanttofuckmydear, via gaveitall)
But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning.
—
(Source: larmoyante)
Everything about you in that statue is the theme of exaltation. But your own theme is suffering.”
“Suffering? I’m not conscious of having shown that.”
“You haven’t. That’s what I meant. No happy person can be quite so impervious to pain.
—The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
