May 2013
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“I want to resemble a sort of liquid light which stretches beyond visibility or...”
– Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary (via sullenmoons)
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“Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad...”
– Margaret Atwood, Good Bones (via leakk)
“To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a...”
– Anne Carson, Eros: The Bittersweet (via litverve)
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