Songs for fierce & fabulous ladies by fierce & fabulous ladies!
(Source: wholove)
“I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams—like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.” — Hermann Hesse, Demian (via 33113)
(Source: s-stevens, via 33113)
“You love the accidental. A smile from a pretty girl in an interesting situation, a stolen glance, that is what you are hunting for, that is a motif for your aimless fantasy. You who always pride yourself on being an observateur must, in return, put up with becoming an object of observation. Ah, you are a strange fellow, one moment a child, the next an old man; one moment you are thinking most earnestly about the most important scholarly problems, how you will devote your life to them, and the next you are a lovesick fool.” — Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or (via 33113)
(Source: bruisedbutbreathing, via 33113)
“Don’t depend too much on anyone in this world, because even your own shadow leaves you when you are in darkness.” — Ibn Taymiyyah (via 33113)
(Source: boysiloveiloveboys, via tsaritsa)
“My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that, and I intend to end up there.” — Rumi (via 33113)
(Source: gegsnostalgicmelancholy, via 33113)
(via ktnss)
“Because he will grip you by the shoulders and wrench you around and he will bring his bristly mouth to yours and blow
stars
down your throat
until
you are so full
of
light.”
— You Better Not Cry by Augusten Burroughs. (via valjeans)
(Source: takemetocoatcheck, via okayophelia)
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, butnothing is infinite,
not even loss.You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
(Source: finnualabutler, via bentbarks)