Fly while you still can.
Who needs sanity?


感情上是一個很理智的人,一個很膽小的人, 到最後不敢愛,感情有潔癖,因為太自愛自己, 保護自己,不敢飛蛾撲火, 沒有轟轟烈烈的戀愛過,什­麼都得不到,什麽都空空的,整個人生都很空虛。

這樣的人最對不起的其實就是自己 。

- Hebe (我對不起我

(Source: n--ess, via s-undayevenings)

Who really knows you at all if you cannot talk of your greatest thoughts.
Greatest Thoughts, Blue Roses (via leslieseuffert)

(via teachingliteracy)

I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things already. I want…a steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love, and be loved.
Shana Abé (via freins)

(Source: bluestown, via daisydandelions-deactivated2013)



A boy with books and prose to give me on rainy mornings, messy hair, thick rimmed glasses, kind eyes, a contagious laugh, a heart-melting smile, charming words, loving embraces, delicate touches and passionate kisses.


Edit: will it be okay to write this down on my wish list for christmas? 

(via daisydandelions-deactivated2013)


Being lonely is one of the worst feelings in the world - it makes me feel unworthy, useless and unloved. This feeling occurs a lot because I find it hard to connect with people. 

(via daisydandelions-deactivated2013)

(Source: dellbby, via staygoldyabish)

(Source: wild-lion, via staygoldyabish)

The little girl’s sense of secrecy that developed at prepuberty only grows in importance. She closes herself up in fierce solitude: she refuses to reveal to those around her the hidden self that she considers to be her real self. There is still an enormous difference between this heroine and the objective face that her parents and friends recognise in her. She is also convinced that she is misunderstood: her relationship with herself becomes even more passionate: she becomes intoxicated with her isolation, feels different, superior, exceptional: she promises that the future will take revenge on the mediocrity of her present life. From this narrow and petty existence she escapes by dreams. She has always loved to dream: she gives herself up to this penchant more than ever; she uses poetic clichés to mask a universe that intimidates her, she sanctifies the male sex with moonlight, rose-coloured clouds, velvet night; she tells herself foolish fairy tales. She sinks so often into such nonsense because she has no grasp on the world; if she had to act, she would be forced to see clearly, whereas she can wait in the fog.
The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir  (via kkk-ilt)

(via petrichour)