I am not like the hell of
burning in hell.
I am not like
the hell of
— Charles Bukowski (via middecember)
So you plant your own garden and
decorate your own soul, instead of waiting
for someone to bring you flowers.
— Jorge Luis Borges (via Swanfeather Songs)
“There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams — not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald