There are two kinds of writing; the one you write and the one that writes you. The one that writes you is dangerous. You go where you don’t want to go. You look where you don’t want to look.
—  Jeanette Winterson

Inspiring Literature Quotes in Minimalist Posters

American illustrator Evan Robertson from design studio Obvious State has designed graphic posters in black and white illustrating famous quotes of worldwide authors : Sartre, Hemingway, Verne, Beckett, Baudelaire, Hugo, Austen, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Orwell, Melville, Poe and also Salinger. Prints are available on his shop.

He was the kind of boy you fall in love with, you don’t know how exactly, or what the string of events were that led up to it// one day, he’s looking at you and soon enough you’re stumbling over cracks in the pavement when he smiles// and checking your phone countless times until his name lights up the screen//He’s like the Sunday newspaper and tea, hazel eyes and daydreams//you’ll never get sick of him//and God that terrifies you but you’ll do it anyway.
—  Fall in love with someone who leaves goosebumps on your skin for months, and kisses your forehead at eight in the morning, not a boy who leaves passionate kisses for goodbyes.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep of a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting this is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.
—  Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
If you write with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can.
—  Neil Gaiman
He kissed me in a way that I’ve only read about in stories.
(Soft, hard, passionate, fun)
He kissed my neck and brushed his lips against my nose. He pinned my arms down above my head and kissed me like he was drowning and I was air. His long fingers went around my throat as my mouth opened for his.
(Thank God I know CPR)
He would feel me. He would race his fingers over my skin, prodding, like he wanted to know me to my muscles, to my bones.
(I think he gave me goosebumps seven different times)
He would wrap his arms around me and pull me into his chest as he massaged the muscles in my back with one hand and played with my hair with the other.
(We’ve only just met, and that was something I could sell my soul for, but I got it for free)
—  This wasn’t love, but dear God, it could be.
Tell me your secret
How did you move on from what we had?
You must have not loved me
Because I can’t bare to forget you for one day
You’re my weakness
Yet you barely notice me anymore as if I was a news paper ad
You tell everyone you’re free now
Did your love for me just fade away?
—  Mychala

Do you howl my name at the moon
when you are hungry and cannot sleep?
Because I feel your teeth on my skin,
and it hurts, and I worship
the bloody-bite marks your ghost
leaves in between my legs.

Do you hear me roar your name
and suddenly love and passion outrages
in my heart, and it bleeds out with
the vision of you in my eyes.

And in the morning when the
photographers will ask me about
my past lovers, I will tell them
I’ve sacrifice them for you.

—  When Two Wolves Make Love In Front Of The Moon by Royla Asghar
Your words taste like ice cream melting in the heat of the summer, quenching and sweet nonetheless. Your touch is like comfort, a home where I never feel alone.
—  And I think I’m addicted, sweetheart

Let’s lay in bed together, wrapped in each others arms, with a bottle of whiskey & our drunken thoughts.
Let’s fool around in the sheets & really get to know each other.
Let’s smoke a blunt & talk for hours upon hours. I want to lose track of time with you. Fall asleep next to you. Hell..
I just want to spend time with you. Alone. Only the two of us.
So you finally realize, I’m perfect for you.