“I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.”— The Catcher in the Rye (via autostraddle) (via romanticandsquare)
“Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won’t adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words “make” and “stay” become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”—From Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins
“I haven’t left you. I don’t leave you, not ever. Do you know why? Because when you are gone I re-create you from memory. The scent of your skin, the mole above the broom of your mustache, how you fit in my palms. Your skin dark and rich as piloncillo. This face in my hands. I miss you. I miss you even now that you like next to me.”—From Sandra Cisneros’ “Eyes of Zapata” in Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories (via cindylu)
With a chaste heart - with pure eyes - I celebrate your beauty. Holding the leash of blood so that it might leap out and trace your outline while you lie down in my Ode As in a land of forests or in surf, in aromatic loam or in sea music
Beautiful nude - Equally beautiful your feet arched by primeval tap of wind and sound. Your ears, small shells of the splendid American sea.
Your breasts, a level plenitude fulfilled by living light. Your flying eyelids of wheat, revealing or enclosing The two deep countries of your eyes.
The line your shoulders have divided into pale regions Loses itself and blends into the compact halves of an apple, Continues, separating your beauty down into two columns Of burnished gold… fine alabaster To sink into the two grapes of your feet Where your twin symmetrical tree burns again and rises .. Flowering fire… open chandelier, a swelling fruit over the pact of sea and earth.
From what materials? agate? quartz? wheat? Did your body come together? Swelling like baking bread to signal silvered hills. The cleavage of one petal, sweet fruits of a deep velvet until alone remained, astonished the fine and firm feminine form.
It is not only light that falls over the world, Spreading inside your body it΄s suffocated snow… So much as clarity…taking it΄s leave of you As if you were on fire from within.
“If I knew I was going to die at a specific moment in the future, it would be nice to be able to control what song I was listening to; this is why I always bring my iPod on airplanes.”—From Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story by Chuck Klosterman
“Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like a volcano and then subsides and when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part, because this is what love is. Love is not the breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promise of eternal passion, and it is not the desire to mate every minute or every second of the day. That is just being “in love” which any fool can do. Love itself is what’s left over when being in love has burned away, and this both an art and a fortunate accident.”—From Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières