I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.
— E.M. Cioran, Strangled Thoughts (via thatkindofwoman)
You take the things you love
and tear them apart,
or you pin them down with your body
and pretend they’re yours.
— Richard Siken (via hellanne)
And the night smells like snow.
Walking home for a moment
you almost believe you could start again.
And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.
— Franz Wright, closing lines to “Night Walk” from God’s Silence (via adieufranz)