$$

Antaño, si mal no recuerdo, mi vida era un festín donde se abrían todos los corazones, donde todos los vinos corrían. Una noche, senté a la Belleza en mis rodillas. —Y la encontré amarga.— Y la injurié.

shisasan:

image
image

July 30, 1929
Journals of Anais Nin 1927-1931
[volume
4]

psycho-mocha:

turns out I simply cannot handle situations

petaltexturedskies:

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Sylvia Plath, from unpublished poems; “barren woman”

waltzingbi:

the epic highs and tragic lows of literally just being in my head on a perfectly normal day

itssomayaa:

“Give me a few days of peace in your arms—I need it terribly. I’m ragged, worn, exhausted. After that I can face the world.”


Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

strykerlancer:

Solitude was my only consolation; deep, dark, deathlike solitude.ALT

Mary Shelley, from “Frankenstein.”

aaresx:

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Albert Camus, The Misunderstanding