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I can’t describe how I feel about coffee. It’s the love of my life. Every hour, every minute, every day.

— Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. (via kareniak)
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“How could I write about life when I’d never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die? A girl I knew had just won a prize for a short story about her adventures among the pygmies in Africa. How could I compete with that sort of thing?” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
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We read not only because we cannot know enough people, but because friendship is so vulnerable, so likely to diminish or disappear, overcome by space, time, imperfect sympathies, and all the sorrows of familial and passional life.

— Harold Bloom (via septembersoy)
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moonlight-mirage:

I spy with my little eye, a dinosaur!
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Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.

— Lemony Snicket (via paxetlux)
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acidkz:

untitled by risa-i on Flickr.
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