I’m almost convinced that I’m never awake. I don’t know if I’m not dreaming when I live, if I don’t live when I dream, or if my dreaming and living aren’t mixed, intersected things, out of which my conscious being is formed by interpenetration.

- Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via foudre)

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Lucky Girl // Red Tambourine

The afternoon and the early evening slide by in a lidded daze where the ability to think in any identifiable way disappears and where every moment seems to be an eternity.

- James Frey, A Million Little Pieces

I get this feeling every now and again, like something nostalgic although I know it has very little to do with my life.  It’s this feeling of old, unoccupied Victorian houses and overgrown yards full of spider webs, wooden staircases that creak in a warm but mysterious sort of way, large empty rooms with aged window sills and faded, peeling wallpaper.  When I think of this place/sensation, I feel like I know exactly where I am, in everything, which is a little strange.

Brod’s life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time.

- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated (via seafaringwoman)