The Voice of the Sea is Seductive;

never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.

colfersaurusrex:

I couldn’t care less about your religion or sexual orientation or race or whether you’re a virgin or have slept with 400 people or have done time in jail

but the moment you eat my leftovers without asking that’s when i decide you’re a terrible person

(Source: rexuality, via classy-or-classless)

And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.

Jane Austen, from Sense and Sensibility (Penguin Classics, 2003)

your heavenly language?

 can that include faces and gestures and sounds and screams? besides speaking and tongues and moaning?

(via anevenbettermiracle)

(via anevenbettermiracle)

tardis-mind-palace:

pi3rcethe-satans:

allonsymiddleearth:

brennanat:

You know how people buy drinks for girls in bars? Why can’t people do that in book stores? Like if I’m looking at a novel in Barnes and Noble and some person walks up to me and strikes up a conversation and offers to buy the book for me there is a lot better chance of that working out in their favor

I’m going to reblog this until it’s a cultural norm.

Lets do it

plus less chance of drugs being slipped into your book

(via xnadiaaax)

Growing up I always thought true love was red roses, dates on Saturday nights, little black box that held expensive things, and always knowing what to say. I thought true love was a kiss in the rain, deep explanations, and the perfect story. But now that I’m older I’ve realized it’s not like that at all.

See because true love for me is ugly snapchats, and peeing while you’re on the phone. True love is kissing at 6 AM despite the morning breath and singing at the top of your lungs. It’s saying all the wrong things, at all the wrong moments. It’s sarcasm and being honest even when it hurts. It’s late hours of the night when it’s been a long day and it’s no make up and bad hair. It’s tears from laughter, it’s tears from sadness and it’s nothing like any storybook you’ve ever read. It’s never running out of things to talk about, and it’s being comfortable in the silence of things. True love is watching The Titanic though you swore you never would. It’s getting mad over stupid things. It’s “you’re an idiot,” and “you’re a little shit” and knowing you’re so lucky to hear those every day. It’s spilling your feelings at 4 AM when you should be asleep. It’s that song you hear on the radio that always makes you smile. It’s the worst story you could imagine, but thank God it worked out anyways. True love is never losing the magic. True love is not leaving when things get hard.

I like my definition better anyways.

—Another Piece About You (via brennanat)

(via xnadiaaax)