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The thoughts he put in her head. Someone should’ve arrested him for it.

Junot Díaz (via bornreadygeneration)

Maturity, the way I understand it, is knowing what your limitations are.
Don’t settle for someone who doesn’t give you things to say. Forever is a long time to make small talk.

—   Iain S. Thomas (via psych-facts)

There’s something about you, something so wonderfully wicked and terribly sexy. The very mention of your name arouses me.
I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.

Warsan Shire  (via earnestly)

The fucking thought of you with somebody else, I don’t like that.

— Tyler the Creator (via scarfacebeee)

Si todos allí -y allá afuera- vivieran sus vidas y dejasen que los demás hicieran lo mismo, Dios estaría en cada instante, en cada grano de mostaza, en el pedazo de nube que se forma y se deshace al momento siguiente. Dios estaba allí y, de todos modos, la gente creía que era necesario seguir buscando, porque parecía demasiado simple aceptar que la vida era un acto de fe.

— Veronika Decide Morir, Paulo Coelho (via vertigo-del-deseo)

I didn’t need you, I picked you. And then you picked me back. And that’s like a promise.

Margo ― John Green, Paper Towns. (via 1hey)

It’s easy to love someone when they’re happy. What’s hard is loving someone when they’re crying on the bathroom floor at 2am because everything came crashing down at once.

Midnight thoughts (sometimes I’m a mess)

Everything you love is here

(via lovequotesrus)

If you show me you don’t give a fuck, I’ll show you that I’m better at it.

— Unknown (via blackbruise)

The reason that I want to be alone, is I’m tired of all the things that went wrong that would’ve went right if I had did ‘em on my own.
I just want someone who won’t get annoyed when I text them six times or in all caps. Someone I can go on long drives with and can sing along to the radio with. Someone I can eat pizza with at 2am and kiss at 6pm. Someone who chooses me everyday and never thinks twice about it.

— (via bl-ossomed)

Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know—because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly…and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.
I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. Probably not even real.

— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via larmoyante)