There's an art to everything

Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.

—Friedrich Nietzsche, from Selected Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)

My roommate’s not suicidal
But it sounds sexier than saying
that she closes her eyes sometimes
when she’s changing lanes.

—Chad Anderson (via writingsforwinter)

I never wish to be easily defined. I’d rather float over other people’s minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable; more like a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual person.

—Franz Kafka; from a diary entry dated 23 March 1914. (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via gypsji)

One of the most healing things you can do is recognize where in your life you are your own poison.

—Steve Maraboli (via elige)

(Source: creatingaquietmind, via keepyourselfaware)

But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

—Margaret Atwood (via dulcetdecember)

(Source: armsoreal, via dulcetdecember)

I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.

—Nikos Kazantzakis, from Zorba the Greek (John Lehmann, Ltd., 1946)

(Source: wordpainting, via nogreatillusion)