“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over again.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald (via muzyczka)
You stoke so so so much emotion in me—the burning, I know it best from childhood, of feeling too much too strong unrelenting, and no one body can hold it; but it’s too too too much for any words, no way to write or speak or read it.
I have words for everything. I have words always. You make me burn speechless. I want to hook my fingers in your back and tell you everything with blood. I want hold your chin and make you look, look long in my eyes until you know everything I’m feeling. I love you. I fucking love you.
“If you forget everything else about me, please remember this. I walked down that street and I never looked back and I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I shall hate you for ever for today.”—John Fowles, The Magus (via wordsnquotes)
“These are forms of male aggression that only women see. But even when men are afforded a front seat to harassment, they don’t always have the correct vantage point for recognizing the subtlety of its operation. Four years before the murders, I was sitting in a bar in Washington, D.C. with a male friend. Another young woman was alone at the bar when an older man scooted next to her. He was aggressive, wasted, and sitting too close, but she smiled curtly at his ramblings and laughed softly at his jokes as she patiently downed her drink. ‘Why is she humoring him?’ my friend asked me. ‘You would never do that.’ I was too embarrassed to say: ‘Because he looks scary’ and ‘I do it all the time.’
Women who have experienced this can recognize that placating these men is a rational choice, a form of self-defense to protect against setting off an aggressor. But to male bystanders, it often looks like a warm welcome, and that helps to shift blame in the public eye from the harasser and onto his target, who’s failed to respond with the type of masculine bravado that men more easily recognize.”—
“We fell into silence, both of us keeping our own secrets of what we’d suffered in the other’s absence. I wondered if we were trying to protect each other or simply didn’t want to admit to our own fears and weaknesses.”— Richelle Mead, Silver Shadows (via quotes-shape-us)
“If pain must come, may it come quickly. Because I have a life to live, and I need to live it in the best way possible. If he has to make a choice, may he make it now. Then I will either wait for him or forget him.”—Paulo Coelho, (via kushandwizdom)
It was a string in his breast that snapped, one of those delicate childhood strings which break before one has had the time to realize that they are capable of sounding; and these strings sound no more; henceforth they are only a memory of incredible days.
After you’ve been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you, Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what’s your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do
sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.
You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course
there’s some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you’ve had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they’re telling you their life story, exactly as they’d intended to all
and you’re saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?
Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that’s how people burn to death in hotel rooms.
i want female villains whose backstory don’t revolve around men breaking their hearts or wanting to be more beautiful than another girl i want female villains who are evil for the fun of it and i want female villains with tragic backstories that don’t revolve around men i want female villains with backstories and motives just as diverse and complex as male villains i’m so sick of female villains who are only motivated by men and girlhate