youremyfavorite

these are the things i will look back on in forty years

Already it is October, and the wind blows strong to the sea.
D.H. Lawrence, “Butterfly” (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

Near dusk, near a path, near a brook,
we stopped, I in disquiet and dismay
for the suffering of someone I loved,
the doe in her always incipient alarm.

All that moved was her pivoting ear
the reddening sun shining through
transformed to a color I’d only seen
in a photo of a new child in a womb.

Nothing else stirred, not a leaf,
not the air, but she startled and bolted
away from me into the crackling bush.

The part of my pain which sometimes
releases me from it fled with her, the rest,
in the rake of the late light, stayed.
The Doe, C.K. Williams (via libraryatsea)
I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis.
It’s not the brains that matter most, but that which guides them — the character, the heart, generous qualities, progressive ideas.
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Insulted and Humiliated (via grisnoirblanc)

(via dostoyevsky)

I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it.
— Hanamoto Hagumi, Honey and Clover  (via larmoyante)

(via dirtylittlestylewhoree)

John William Waterhouse - The Soul of the Rose

(Source: marcuscrassus, via concreteandtrees)

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.
— André Breton, Mad Love  (via dishamilitia)

(Source: petrichour, via doctorwhisky)