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Wounding and healing are not opposites. They’re part of the same thing. It is our wounds that enable us to be compassionate with the wounds of others. It is our limitations that make us kind to the limitations of other people. It is our loneliness that helps us to to find other people or to even know they’re alone with an illness. I think I have served people perfectly with parts of myself I used to be ashamed of.

— Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom

7:31 pm     8 notes
April 18 2014

6:33 pm     32,630 notes
April 17 2014

Perhaps - I want the old days back again and they’ll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears.

Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind

6:30 pm     1 note
April 17 2014

You can not die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death.

— Laurell K. Hamilton

4:30 pm     19 notes
April 13 2014

(Source: ecrase, via dorkyteen)

7:44 pm     469 notes
April 10 2014

I wonder how many people don’t get the one they want, but end up with the one they’re supposed to be with.

— Fannie Flagg, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

7:43 pm     8 notes
April 10 2014

1:47 am     7,780 notes
April 10 2014


Guozhuang Garden by kgartner on Flickr.

1:44 am      2,977 notes
April 10 2014

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.

— Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (via sequences)

(via sequences)

1:42 am     176 notes
April 10 2014

As I am. As I am. All or not at all.

James Joyce, from Ulysses (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via hilaryrodhamclinton)

1:41 am     4,523 notes
April 10 2014