• i love you and i always will and i am sorry. what a useless word. — ernest hemingway
  • please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. there are times when i will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand. — sylvia plath
  • i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat. — jorge luis borges
  • the way you slam your body into mine reminds me i’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you. — richard siken
  • i knew it wasn’t too important, but it made me sad anyway. — j.d. salinger
  • perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood. — george orwell
  • mis disculpas por sentir así, nunca mi intención ha sido ofenderte. nunca soñé con quererte, ni con sentirme así. — mario benedetti
  • i’m beginning to know myself. i don’t exist. i’m the space between what i’d like to be and what others made of me. just let me be at ease and all by myself in my room. — fernando pessoa
  • todos los días tienen un minuto en que cierro los ojos y disfruto echándote de menos. — joaquín sabina
  • ¿qué escapatoria existe para quienes estamos atrapados en los laberintos de nuestra propia mente? — catherine fisher
  • he stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking. — leo tolstoy
  • you swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. in you everything sank. — pablo neruda
  • some people turn sad awfully young. no special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. they bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as i say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. i know, for i’m one of them. — ray bradbury
  • i am lonely, yet not everybody will do. i don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. — anaïs nin
  • i like people too much or not at all. — sylvia plath
  • everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it. — david foster wallace
  • te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma. — pablo neruda
sep 19 2013 ∞
oct 30 2016 +