kitty-en-classe:

André Saraiva and Annabelle Dexter-Jones at Stella Schnabel’s apartment, New York. Photo Olivier Zahm

kitty-en-classe:

André Saraiva and Annabelle Dexter-Jones at Stella Schnabel’s apartment, New York. Photo Olivier Zahm

"And I don’t know,
don’t know,
if we belong together or apart,
except that my soul lingers over the skin of you
and I wonder if I’m ruining all we had,
and had not […]"

Anne Sexton, from “Waking Alone (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not."

Donna Tartt, The Secret History (via camilla-macauley)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"El remanso del aire
bajo la rama del eco.
-
El remanso del agua
bajo fronda de luceros.
-
El remanso de tu boca
bajo espesura de besos.

***

The still pool of air
under the branch of echo.
-
The still pool of water
under a frond of stars.
-
The still pool of your mouth
under a thicket of kisses."

Federico García Lorca, from “Variación” (via drakontomalloi)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"…I dream the love is swallowing itself."

Anne Sexton, from “The Break Away (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"There isn’t anything in this world but mad love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. And of course, no reasonable love. Also there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But, who wants easier? We dream of love, we moon about it, thinking of Romeo and Juliet, or Tristan, or the lost queen rushing away over the Irish sea, all doom and splendor. Today, on the beach, an old man was sitting in the sun. I called out to him, and he turned. His face was like an empty pot. I remember his tall, pale wife; she died long ago. I remember his daughter-in-law. When she died, hard, and too young, he wept in the streets. He picked up pieces of wood, and stones, and anything else that was there, and threw them at the sea. Oh, how he loved his wife. Oh, how he loved young Barbara. I stood in front of him, not expecting any answer yet not wanting to pass without some greeting. But his face had gone back to whatever he was dreaming. Something touched, me lightly, like a knife-blade. I felt I was bleeding, though just a little, a hint. Inside I flared hot, then cold. I thought of you. Whom I love madly."

Mary Oliver, “March, in White Pine (via hiddenshores)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"Take off the signatures, the false
bodies, this love
which does not fit you

This is not a house, there are no doors,
get out while it is
open, while you still can"

Margaret Atwood, “Hesitations outside the door,” from Power Politics (via lifeinpoetry)

"Oh, I don’t mean you’re handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they’re beautiful. They’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire."

Charles Bukowski  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: goodreads.com, via thatkindofwoman)

"Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart."

Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami (via theseliteraryquotes)

"I hadn’t realized how much I’d been needing to meet someone I might be able to say everything to."

Talk Before Sleep, Elizabeth Berg (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)

"When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous."

The Garden of Eden, Ernest Hemingway (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)

soyouthinkyoucansee:

Camille Corry.
etude  

soyouthinkyoucansee:

Camille Corry.

etude  

soyouthinkyoucansee:

Grit Kallin Fischer - Self-Portrait with Cigarette, 1928  sepia romantic 

soyouthinkyoucansee:

Grit Kallin Fischer - Self-Portrait with Cigarette, 1928  sepia romantic 

anneyhall:

(via: soyouthinkyoucansee)
mpdrolet:

Glass Necklace, 1977
Mac Adams

mpdrolet:

Glass Necklace, 1977

Mac Adams

(via kitty-en-classe)