most-predatory-of-all-blog

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

I got lost in him, and it was the kind of lost that’s exactly like being found.

Claire LaZebnik, Epic Fail (via books-n-quotes)

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

I notice you, I want to say. Even when no one else does, I do. I will.

David Levithan, Every Day (via books-n-quotes)

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Anonymously tell me what the fuck is wrong w me

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts.

Kate Jacobs // Comfort Food

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Briana Vojnovic

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Absolute mockery of a race. Disqualified? For the mere possibility of a hoof touch? On a mudder track? Disgraceful. Not in one hundred and forty-five years has such a thing happened. 

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and knows that love is as strong as death, and be on my side forever and ever.

Jeanette Winterson

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory?

Richard Siken

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

And suddenly solitude fell across his heart like a dusty reflection. He closed his eyes. The dark doors within him opened and he entered.

Patrick Süskind

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

If you are scorched earth, I will be warm rain.

Murasaki Shikibu

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Coleridge: What's trending right now kids?

Keats: Pain

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

“I loved him, I adored him. And I don’t know why I write that in the past tense, for I love him still.”

— Marcel Proust, from a letter to Reynaldo Hahn c. October 1914

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

[image description: a quote from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson.

‘A not admitting of the wound 

Until it grew so wide 

That all my Life had entered it-’]

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

via @extramadness

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

[most-predatory-of-all-blog]

Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me.

Sylvia Plath