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I have been too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence of temporal things, to give any continuous effort to anything—to be consistent in anything. My life has been whim—impulse—passion—a longing for solitude—a scorn of all things present, in an earnest desire for the future.
-Edgar Allan Poe, from The Collected Letters Of Edgar Allan Poe (via violentwavesofemotion)
dustypalms:

. (by joannablu kitchener)
Live in such a way that if someone spoke badly of you, no one would believe it.
-Unknown (via an-artful-life)
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want. You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube…We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
-Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain (via fleurlungs)
cutesyfood:

Lox and Bagel (by AlphaTangoBravo / Adam Baker)
If you’re happy in a dream…does that count? The happiness–does it count?
-From The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (via hush-syrup)