Magnifique Mais Sans Espoir

When I miss you I reread our old conversations, hoping that one day we can go back to what we were
Where were you when I was still kind?

Gregory Alan Isakov, “Master & A Hound” (via larmoyante)

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (via mattsjustaroundthecorner)

(Source: mistgates)

Where would we be without the night to disguise old wounds?

lawns:

from Rapture (1999) by Shirin Neshat
We fall in love with one version of someone and we expect them to stay that way, but they never do.

Olivia Wilde, “Her: Love in the Modern Age”   (via emilyung)

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Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.

Isaac Asimov (via w-ritings)

(Source: wordsthat-speak)

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