“You are the author of my sins; what right have you to punish them?”
— Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
“Do not look for my heart any more; the beasts have eaten it.”
—
Charles Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil, (1857)
“My soul and yours are the same , you appear in me , I in you, we hide in each other .”
-Rumi (via wordsnqoutes)
“How shall I hold back my soul from touching yours?”
-Rainer Maria Rilke, excerpt of “love song [liebeslied], stories of god
“You were made to be kissed, often and well.”
— George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
― Min Jin Lee, Pachinko
[text ID: Fill your mind with knowledge—it’s the only kind of power no one can take away from you.]
D. H. Lawrence, from “The Rainbow,” originally publ. c. 1915
“I want to infect you with the tremendous excitement of living, because I believe that you have the strength to bear it.”
— Tennessee Williams, from The Selected Letters: 1920-1945 (via victoriajoan)
Alejandra Pizarnik, tr. by Yvette Siegert, from “Extracting the Stone of Madness”, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972
“Something’s burning somewhere, or did burn, once. A torn silk veil, a yellowing letter: I’m dying here. Love on a skewer, a heart in flames.”
— Margaret Atwood, from Frida Kahlo, San Miguel, Ash Wednesday in “Dearly: New Poems"
“Jesus, Jesus he says, but he’s not praying to Jesus, he’s praying to you, not to your body or your face but to that space you hold at the centre, which is the shape of the universe… How does it feel to be a god… ?”
— Margaret Atwood, from “Worship,” Murder in the Dark (via themaraudersaredead)
“(…) ‘Do you dream of me?’ you said. My heart was dust that used to leap To you; (…)”
— Christina Rossetti, from The Convent Threshold in “The Complete Poems Of Christina Rossetti”
Federico García Lorca, from Blood Wedding
Text ID: a girl caressed by fire
turningintodust
God lived in her eyes. That was how he had fallen for her—like a religious conversion.
Lapvona, Otessa Moshfegh.
— Penelope’s Song, Louise Glück
[text ID: Who wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite could you possibly fail to answer?]
Hélène Cixous, from The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous; “The Perjured City”
Text ID: The flowers all around are soaked with blood,
violentwavesofemotion-deactivat
“…the perfume of your soul,”
— Amy Lowell, from The Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell; “A Lady,”