"Love isn't soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close."
- 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐, The Body (@uaravsh)
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I don’t miss it, because I have my childhood more now than when it was happening...
Clarice Lispector in, Near to the Wild Heart.
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August
“I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.”
Bram Stoker
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... it is, after all, not necessary to fly right into the middle of the sun, but it is necessary to crawl to a clean little spot on Earth where the sun sometimes shines and one can warm oneself a little.
— Franz Kafka, Letter to His Father
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August. August is such a bittersweet month, with the last remnants of summer in the air it promises endings sweet and sour. A month that slowly and softly brings you out of the hot summer haze, when the realities of the world finally begin to set in.
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{Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath/ Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney, The Nest/ Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life/ Susan Sontag/ Liv Ullmann, from Changing (Knopf, 1976)/ Katherine Mansfield, in a letter to J.M. Murry, dated December 14, 1919, Letters and Journals of Katherine Mansfield (Penguin Classics, 1977)/ Anne Sexton,A Self-Portrait in Letters/ Anne Sexton,A Self-Portrait in Letters/ Richard Siken/ Papi/ Anais Nin/ Ghada Al-Samman/ Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings}
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