I am the dweller, the closed eyed dreamer.

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I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading. How much sooner one tires of any thing other than a book. When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

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Tuesday, 29th May

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(Source: tea-and-revenge, via luciel0u)

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Tuesday, 29th May

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Why do dreams drag up the past?

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Tuesday, 29th May

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(via thingssheloves)

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Sunday, 27th May

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(Source: a-million-times-over, via bemyescapevalve)

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Thursday, 17th May

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At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.

Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary (via larmoyante)

(via natantes)

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Thursday, 17th May

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It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

Charles Bukowski, Factotum (via kingsrow)

(via natantes)

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Thursday, 17th May

#always retweet

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Stories you read when you’re the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you’ll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit.

Neil Gaiman (via suadehead)

(Source: misswallflower, via natantes)

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Tuesday, 15th May

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