(Source: christinedee, via nnick-andopolis)
(Source: are2, via dylancashman)
“I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.”
—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald
(via palahniukandchocolate)
I want to be like water;
(via nnick-andopolis)
(Source: eutopiandream, via nnick-andopolis)
Because we cannot re-learn newness or re-experience the seconds before our first kiss or first cruelty, we keep kernels. That’s what Moonrise does. While the conversation might be lost, we do remember where we were sitting when an adult, perhaps feeling especially vulnerable, spoke to us for the first time as if we were one too. Or how during that one summer, there was a bad lighting storm and a girl named Suzy who wore her mother’s perfume. Or the way our parents looked on especially hot days in various states of undress.
(via nnick-andopolis)
“…when he saw the Tralfamadorians close their little hands on their eyes. He knew from past experience what this meant: He was being stupid.”
