-Rumi

Sylvia Plath, aged 23, in a letter to Richard Sassoon (dated Sunday, 11 December 1955)

— Anaïs Nin

Natalie Díaz, from “That Which Cannot Be Stilled”, Postcolonial Love Poem

So close. So close. I wish I were dead.

— Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

M.S. (via coffee-crinkled-pages)

— danagray

25 April, 1932 The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf (1924-1941)

There is nothing poetic in sadness. No salvation in pain.

You won't ease the suffering by running away.

It was always inside you.

The fear.

The grief.

The rage.

The sorrow.

Let it slip.

Nothing is everlasting but everything is eternal.

Maybe you fear death but

you're still about to be born.

We forgot who we actually are.

Tangled up in our daily lifes we believe everything that happens is important. That every bad thing that happened is proof that the universe is against us. But it's not.

We are it's children.

We are the same.

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Nikos Kazantzakis