To be alive at all is to have scars.
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent (via sickflower)
(Source: larmoyante)
When I first met you, I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time, you are running away for all you’re worth.
―
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via durianquotes)
(via idiotwax)
I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.
― Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via visualcomplex)
(Source: loitoledo)
She’s never where she is,” I said. “She’s only inside her head.
― White Oleander (via blue-voids)
(Source: bobcharley)
