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When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots are become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No… don’t blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away..Iannis to Pelagia (via strandedlove)
Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.
(via vanillasprinkleddreams)
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I remember riding in a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rosy sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.F. Scott Fitzgerald, My Lost City (via nothing-places)
(via lipstickinfamy)
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Reality is embedded in literature and artWheeler
