A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.
— Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via jarrodis)
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230 заметок
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps
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1 228 заметок
My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.
— Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)
(со страницы pulmograde)
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12 822 заметки
All I do is keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence. And this is a pretty wonderful thing. No matter what anybody else says.
— Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (via diluvie)
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4 185 заметок
