#emo

The days aren't discarded or collected, they are bees that burned with sweetness or maddened the sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net. They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river. Sleep doesn't divide life into halves, or action, or silence, or honor: life is like a stone, a single motion, a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves, an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal that climbs or descends burning in your bones. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#pablo-neruda #poetry #life

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next. ↗

— Ursula K. Le Guin

#future #philosophy #life

Life is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel. ↗

— Jean Racine

#emotions #feeling #life #thinking #tragedy

I will continue my path, but I will keep a memory always. ↗

— Rosie Thomas

#memory #moving-on #life

With my name on her lips and with barely anything separating us, I felt the last of my control slipping. Whitish-red light radiated off of me, bathing Kat in the warm glow. There was nowhere that my hands didn’t explore, and the way her body arched into the slightest touch, I was awed and consumed. Kissing her and drawing her deep inside me, I never wanted this to end. She was perfect to me. She was mine, and I wanted her more than I wanted anything in my life. ↗

— Jennifer L. Armentrout

#onyx #life

I learned in therapy the word "No" is a complete sentence. ↗

— Jaycee Dugard

#life

Ten long trips around the sun since I last saw that smile, but only joy and thankfulness that on a tiny world in the vastness, for a couple of moments in the immensity of time, we were one. ↗

— Ann Druyan

#appreciation #carl-sagan #life #loss #love

Every life has a soundtrack. There is a tune that makes me think of the summer I spent rubbing baby oil on my stomach in pursuit of the perfect tan. There's another that reminds me of tagging along with my father on Sunday morning to pick up the New York Times. There's the song that reminds me of using fake ID to get into a nightclub; and the one that brings back my cousin Isobel's sweet sixteen, where I played Seven Minutes in Heaven with a boy whose breath smelled like tomato soup. If you ask me, music is the language of memory. ↗

— Jodi Picoult

#music #life

I thought about the days i had handed over to a bottle..the nights i can't remember..the mornings i slept thru..all the time spent running from myself. ↗

— Mitch Albom

#bottle #days #drunk #forget #life

We live in deeds not years In thoughts not breaths In feelings not figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best. ↗

— Philip James Bailey

#memories #philosophy #life