Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.
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Margaret Atwood, from “Homelanding” (via weissewiese)
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It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
dudleyworl:
Friday I’m In Love (cover) | Tom Rosenthal
To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.
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Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (via cenizas)
to be loved?
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All reality is iconoclastic. The earthly beloved, even in this life, incessantly triumphs over your mere idea of her. And you want her to; you want her with all her resistances, all her faults, all her unexpectedness. That is, in her foursquare and independent reality. And this, not any image or memory, is what we are to love still, after she is dead.
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C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
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