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August 21, 2014 at 23:00

by Risha Voronchenko

August 21, 2014 at 23:00

The only thing I’ve loved is nothing at all. The only thing I’ve desired is what I couldn’t even imagine. All I asked of life is that it go on by without my feeling it. All I demanded of love is that it never stop being a distant dream.

— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

August 21, 2014 at 23:00

by Johannes Huwe

August 21, 2014 at 14:43

by Sam Livm

August 18, 2014 at 0:16

I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.

— Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

August 16, 2014 at 22:02

by Gokturk Ayan

August 14, 2014 at 20:25

by Aaron Morris

August 13, 2014 at 22:19

Don’t be so vain to think that you ruined me,
that you wrecked me,
destroyed me.

I am the only one who has the power to do that.

Amanda Helm, The Day I Learned That I was Broken

August 13, 2014 at 22:17

by Esben Bøg Jensen

August 11, 2014 at 20:47

by Richard Gaston

August 11, 2014 at 20:47

by Buenaventura Marco

August 8, 2014 at 14:55

by Kei Cheong Wong

July 31, 2014 at 21:03

Book are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.

— Roberto Bolaño, Literature + Illness = Illness

July 30, 2014 at 0:37

Making love with you
is like drinking sea water.
The more I drink
the thirstier I become,
until nothing can slake my thirst
but to drink the entire sea.

— Kenneth Rexroth, The Love Poems of Marichiko: VII

July 29, 2014 at 21:29

s.t.