F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via nisanugoo)
“That year, a middle-aged acquaintance asked me what my favorite book was and I said, ‘On The Road.’ He smiled, said, ‘That was my favorite book when I was sixteen.’ At the time, I thought he was patronizing me, that it was going to be my favorite book forever and ever, amen. But he was right. As an adult, I’m more of a Gatsby girl—more tragic, more sad, just as interested in what America costs as what it has to offer.”
— Sarah Vowell
“She feels tender, merciful toward her younger self, for decisions made in good faith that turned out badly. When you are young, she thinks, you never believe that courage isn’t enough.”
- Mary Gordon, The Love Of My Youth
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why. ❞
Tony Hoagland, “The Loneliest Job in the World” (via pigmenting)
All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.
Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.
Tiny bears live in drain pipes.
If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.
The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.
Everyone knows at least one secret language.
When nobody is looking, I can fly.
We are all held together by invisible threads.
Books get lonely too.
Sadness can be eaten.
I will always be there. ❞
Raul Gutierrez, “Lives I’ve Told My 3 Year Old Recently” (via words-in-lines)
Michael Cunningham, The Hours (via pigmenting)
we spend sleeping beside each other in a week
and I wanted to tell you it could be considered
a full-time job. We could be eligible for healthcare
benefits, could probably even pay for a mortgage
by now. I remind myself of this, in daylight, when
I miss you and cannot reach across the bed
for the comforting filling and refilling
of your chest. Such a strange affair
we are having on each other; these hours
that I have not lost but do not remember.
This cannot be the best of love: to drool
on someone’s collarbone or inhale an elbow to
the jaw or be woken by the most ungraceful sounds
of the body. But what is it if not the softening
of grips? A letting go of. Your heart
finally slowly that stubborn, lonely march. ❞
Sierra DeMulder, “These Hours I Have Not Lost But Do Not Remember” (via fleurishes)
Maud Casey (via thegirlandherbooks)
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams (via beautyisanillusion)
Gregory Sherl, In Vermont No One Can Hear You Scream (via infelicific)
I mouth Olive juice, but I really do love you. ❞
Gregory Sherl (via pigmenting)