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There is no medicine like hope, no incentive so great, and no tonic so powerful as expectation of something better tomorrow.
O. S. M.  (via modernhepburn)

(via modernhepburn)

Source: adenosinetriesphosphate

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Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to.
Rita Mae Brown, Hiss of Death (via larmoyante)

(via rememo)

Source: larmoyante

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Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry.
Jack Kerouac (via larmoyante)

Source: larmoyante

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(via awfuldaring)

Source: arecklessrebel

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Nothing is more curious and awkward than the relationship of two people who only know each other with their eyes — who meet and observe each other daily, even hourly and who keep up the impression of disinterest either because of morals or because of a mental abnormality. Between them there is listlessness and pent-up curiosity, the hysteria of an unsatisfied, unnaturally suppressed need for communion and also a kind of tense respect. Because man loves and honors man as long as he is not able to judge him, and desire is a product of lacking knowledge.
Thomas Mann (via absea)

(via luellaloves)

Source: seabois

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My goal in life is not fame or fortune. It is simply to one day own a library with a ladder.
(via reading-as-breathing)

(via libraryinatower)

Source: eternallinestotime

    • #yep
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    • #everyone remembers the scene from beauty and the beast
  • 2 days ago > eternallinestotime
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But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…

Yale Daily News column on how we have time to do what we dream of. The writer, 22, died a few days later in a car crash.

Read: The Opposite of Loneliness

(via brooklynmutt)

I highly recommend reading her article.

(via curieux)

(via curieux)

Source: yaledailynews.com

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I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.
Oscar Wilde (via saddest-summer)

(via curieux)

Source: saddest-summer

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I know that’s what people say - you’ll get over it. I’d say it, too. But I know it’s not true. Oh, you’ll be happy again, never fear. But you won’t forget. Every time you fall in love it will be because something in the man reminds you of him.
Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (via larmoyante)

Source: larmoyante

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(via awfuldaring)

Source: shahirzag.com

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But that’s what love is like when it’s fresh and new. It’s fire and thunder and heat.
Carrie Ryan, The Dead-Tossed Waves (via larmoyante)

Source: larmoyante

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I daydream. All day. Everyday. And none of it ever comes true.
Nate Ruess (via hidingfromthesaints)

(via threadspinner)

Source: hidingfromthesaints

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He made me love him without looking at me.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (via talisman)

(via ghostheart)

Source: seabois

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1. Run away to Brooklyn. Rent an apartment with a claw footed bathtub. Commute to Manhattan during the week and put in hours at a menial publishing job. Drive home to New Jersey on weekends to swim in the pool and cry to your mother. Smoke Gauloises on the fire escape. Let yellowing issues of Rolling Stone and Vogue pile into a protective fortress around your bed. Listen to Cat Power. Fall asleep mostly naked beneath the duvet watching Sportscenter and drinking earl grey. Date a Yankees fan and kiss his hands on the 4 Train into the Bronx.

2. Run away to Barcelona. Eat milk chocolate magnum bars and drink cheap champagne. Burst into charming fits of laughter whenever you get embarrassed about butchering the Catalan language. Wear denim cutoffs, Dr. Pepper chapstick, and very little else. Go dancing at 3 a.m. Whiten your teeth. Tan your shoulders. Braid feathers into your hair. Perpetually wake up with sand caught in the thin cotton sheets of your tiny bed. Listen to the Rolling Stones and kiss all the longhaired boys you can get your hands on without ever having to apologize.

3. Run away to Los Angeles. Sublet a studio in Venice three blocks from the beach. Listen to top 40 radio. Go to Chateau Marmont and charge drinks you can’t afford to a long-dormant credit card. Sleep with a television actor who lives in the valley. Sleep with a musician who lives in Bel Air. Break things off with both of them when gas prices begin to rise. Find Gilda Radner’s star on the Walk Of Fame and swallow a sob when you see the filthy cement around her name is cracked. Walk through the Venice Canals until the sun sets and you forget your own name. Call your mother crying from the parking lot of a 24-hour Ralph’s supermarket. Tell her you want to come home.

4. Run away to Paris. Gaze at the pink and pistachio glow of macarons in the window on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Listen to Joni Mitchell. Meet an Argentinean man in the Latin Quarter for drinks. Melt into his accent and kiss him goodnight, but return to your apartment alone because his face doesn’t look enough like the man’s you are trying to forget. Get lost in the Richelieu Wing of the Louvre, admiring Napoleon’s fine red damask. Walk alone along the Seine in an old dress, ten-dollar shoes, and an Hermes scarf. Fumble with the locks on the fence overlooking the river. They all have lovers’ names etched into them and the girl who left the red heart-shaped lock has the same name as you.

5. Run away to Martha’s Vineyard. Write heartbroken stories during the day in front of a large fan that blows curls of humid hair across your tired face. Take a waitress job at The Black Dog at night and try hard not to drop too many trays. Learn to ride a moped. Pretend you’re a Kennedy. Listen to Carly Simon. Eat hand-churned ice cream out of waffle cones. Visit the flying horses and consider how many girls just like you have sat on the same horse clutching for the same brass ring. Get stoned and dance barefoot down the length of the eroded Jaws beach. Date a Red Sox fan. Yell at each other during baseball games, and then kiss and make up between tangled sheets.

5 Fantasy Exit Strategies « Thought Catalog (via missant0nia)

i’m in love with this.

(via streetlamp-amber-wanderlust)

favorite thought catalog article.

(via sylvysparrow)

(via sylvysparrow)

Source: 472239364

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    • #i think this is what we all want out of life
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The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.
Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez (from Love in the Time of Cholera)

Source: adreamoftrains

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