I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.
—Ferdinand von Schrubentaufft (via observando)
Apparently orgasm is the only point where your mind becomes completely empty, you think of nothing for that second. That’s why it’s so compelling, it’s a tiny taste of death. Your mind is void, you have nothing in your head save white light.
—Jeff Buckley (via un-exotic)
April was too lonely a month to spend alone. In April, everyone around me looked happy. People would throw their coats off and enjoy each other’s company in the sunshine—talking, playing catch, holding hands. But I was always by myself.
—Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via lovenolongerexists)