Out of the Desert, Into the Sun

I died saving him. In return, he saved me to a database in the biggest library in the universe. Left me like a book on a shelf. Didn’t even say goodbye. He doesn’t like endings

(Source: mad-impossible-doctor, via doctorwho)

"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?… We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief."

- Franz Kafka (via buddhacoffee)

"She was breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the weight of beings, the insane or static life, the long anguish of living or dying. After so many years running from fear, fleeing crazily, uselessly, she was finally coming to a halt. At the same time she seemed to be recovering her roots, and the sap rose anew in her body, which was no longer trembling. Pressing her whole belly against the parapet, leaning toward the wheeling sky, she was only waiting for her pounding heart to settle down, and for the silence to form in her. The last constellations of stars fell in bunches a little lower on the horizon of the desert, and stood motionless. Then, with an unbearable sweetness, the waters of the night began to fill her, submerging the cold, rising gradually to the center of her being, and overflowing wave upon wave to her moaning mouth. A moment later, the whole sky stretched out above her as she lay with her back against the cold earth."

- Albert Camus, “The Adulterous Woman”
From Exile and the Kingdom (via liquidnight)

(Source: tomdelonely, via sunbreh)

thehystericalsociety:

Boogeymen - part of a series of eerie stereoviews - dated 1923 (Via)

(via aprilmaymay)

(Source: fyeah-riversong, via doctorwho)

"And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long."

- Sylvia Plath  (via comequicklight)

(Source: hellanne, via psalm103)

"I wonder how many people I’ve looked at all my life and never seen."

- John Steinbeck (via sahrana)

(Source: winterkristall, via psalm103)

(Source: benknope, via cheetodores)

"You are mysterious, I love you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, and that’s the rarest known combination."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald (via larmoyante)

(Source: larmoyante, via cheetodores)