...a certain hunger of the soul which feeds on memories.
Albert Camus, from a diary entry written in January 1941
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‘From a swamp, evil, viscous,’ Osip Mandelstam (translated by A. S. Kline)
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Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares written in February 1950
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The Prisoner’s Throne snippet from Holly Black:
“Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan asks, opening one eye, “Because you do.”
MY MAIN MAN IS BACK *screams into oblivion*
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I am stuck between wanting to be alone in my own company for the rest of my life and wanting to be consumed, whole-heartedly, by a man who only knows my name.
"You only know my name,"
"Yet, you're already whelved within my bones."
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Richard Siken, from "On Perplexity: Chrysanthemum"
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girls be like "gn going to sleep now" and then open tumblr
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Gabriel Ramirez, from "Abuelo,"
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Kaveh Akbar, from “Thirstiness is not Equal Division”, Calling a Wolf a Wolf
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my version of the roman empire
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You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago.
Alida Nugent
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"Sunday is short. Mornings for sleep, afternoons for washing hair, dusk for strolling like an idler."
1907, Franz Kafka
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sylvia plath feeding blueberries to a deer (1959)
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Stephanie Garber, Once Upon a Broken Heart
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