“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”—Ray Bradbury (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes) (via vavin)
“When small drops began to fall and darken the world in penny-shaped circles, no one around him scurried for cover. For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.”—Simon Van Booy, The Secret Lives of People in Love: Stories (via starsmending) (via suzywire)
“What does really matter?” I asked. She looked at me as though wondering if she could trust me with some immense secret. Finally she said, “Having someone to love. Being compassionate. Being fully alive every day so that you really see and hear and smell and feel things.”—Jonathan Hull, Losing Julia (via owlcaste)
Not all things are poetic. But the way your body moves in waves, the electric look in your eyes when you want what you can’t have, your hands—your traveling, wandering hands, the secrets we hold between our lips, the secrets we share when our hips kiss, the awkward shuffle of our feet in each other’s presence—it’s all poetry from what I know. It’s all the poetry I want to know. And learn, and memorize and live between with you and you and only you, with me.