...transitions.

I had no one to help me, but then T. S. Eliot helped me.

So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language – and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers – a language powerful enough to say how it is.

It isn’t a hiding place. It is a finding place.

Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (via afewofmyfavourites)
brycepaul:

Ouray, Colorado. 

brycepaul:

Ouray, Colorado. 

infiltration:

sometimes i realize there are so many things i won’t remember in 50 years like the way the sky looked this morning and all the dogs i saw today and my mom’s voice and i get so sad i never want to forget

shoutouts to those low maintenance best friends. the ones who you don’t speak to for months because both of yall are living life but when you catch up it’s nothing but intense love.
At times I can read your mind, and I feel such tenderness that I forget myself.
Ingmar Bergman, Scenes from a Marriage (1973)

i’m literally at my wit’s end.

everything has been falling apart in every possible way and no matter how hard i try, how matter where i look, it just seems as though my options are becoming more and more limited.

I hope one day someone looks at you like they’ve been waiting a long time to feel as happy as they do now. I hope they tell you cute things like how they found this cosy Italian restaurant around the corner and kiss your nose before spinning you around in the street. I hope when you ask them to go for a walk in the middle of the night they don’t complain that it’s too cold and even though you can see the condensation of your breath in the midnight air I hope you feel warm. I hope old ladies smile knowingly when you walk by, hand in hand, along the pavement and I hope you are smiling too.

When he whispers how much he loves you I hope you feel your heart beating so fast you’re scared you’ll never recover. I hope he stays and makes you feel important, like he wants every part of this and isn’t afraid to admit it. I hope he finds words that touch you where his fingers cannot and knows how to pull your hair when you’re feeling electric but hold your soul when you’re fragile like glass. And I hope you find someone who asks before they kiss you, not because they need permission but because they want to see your knees buckle and your lips part ways. I hope their hands feel right around your waist when you reply ‘yes’ and again ‘yes’, until you’re falling apart in his arms whispering ‘yes, yes, yes’ and I hope you never need to ask if he’s the one because the answer will be staring you in the face.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #71 "I’m scared I’ll never feel love like the kind you write about" (via a-thousand-words)

austinkleon:

Maps by Oliver Jeffers

I made a bunch of maps for the United Airlines inflight magazine. They are all geographically accurate.

Oliver has a new book coming in October, btw.

Filed under: maps, Oliver Jeffers

Hell is
loving you in my sleep
and waking up alone.
(via krystallballerrr)
I imagine you working on me as an algebra problem, reducing me to fractions, crossing out common denominators, until there’s nothing left on the page but a line that says x = whatever it is that is wrong with me.
Patricia McCormick, Cut (via quoted-books)