The starting point of critical elaboration is the consciousness of what one really is, and is ‘knowing thyself’ as a product of the historical process to date which has deposited in you an infinity of traces, without leaving an inventory.
Anonymous asked: Are you back in Plano?
also, didn’t mean to publish this. oops im a dumb ho, a very dumb ho.
Gathering a desperate courage she would urge her own exemption from the universal law; plead for it; she liked to be alone; she liked to be herself.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
Attend your office and your quality.
Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all cost.
The Secret History, Donna Tartt
Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings—always darker, emptier and simpler.
We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.