Erase from your vocabulary the word “someday.” Do not save things for “special occasions.” Take into account the fact that every day is special. Every day is a gift that we must appreciate and be thankful for. Wear your attractive clothes, wear your nice perfume, use your fine silverware and dishes, and drink from your expensive crystal glasses…just because. Live every day to the fullest and savor every minute of it.
I won’t kiss you. It might get to be a habit and I can’t get rid of habits.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Flappers and Philosophers (via teenager90s)
I’m so afraid. Because I’m so profoundly happy. Happiness like this is frightening… They only let you this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you.
I’m more honest in my poetry than to myself. That’s what I’m hunting for when I’m working away there in the poem. I’m hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, every act there is another truth, a secret life.
I don’t know why that got me insecure, you telling me about how her craziness influenced you. Probably cause I’ve never done crazy stuff that much and I knew it.
Everything is getting fixed. Sometimes, things seem like they’re going back, but I find my way back. And I will keep going ahead. And I will learn to take care of myself along the way, and I will learn to be patient. I will be the hardest on myself when i need to be, and not hard when required. I will give myself to life. I will, like I am right now, embrace human beings and their emotions and everything that is fucked up because it is still beautiful. And life is so beautiful. It really is.
Procrastination is a thief. It steals our time, our potential, our self-esteem, our peace of mind.
Every other person in the world couldn’t compensate for you.
I don’t like this moment. I am scared. I am scared of messing things up. I hate messes. I will miss this up, that up, I will mess it all up. I doubt myself. I don’t know what I want. I want everything.
I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.
If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z. Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut.
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via feellng)