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pramudiya:

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I knew it wasn’t too important, but it made me sad anyway. J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (via feellng)

(Source: feellng, via prestigiousqueen)

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Love is a fire that burns unseen,
a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,
an always discontent contentment,
a pain that rages without hurting,

a longing for nothing but to long,
a loneliness in the midst of people,
a never feeling pleased when pleased,
a passion that gains when lost in thought.

It’s being enslaved of your own free will;
it’s counting your defeat a victory;
it’s staying loyal to your killer.

But if it’s so self-contradictory,
how can Love, when Love chooses,
bring human hearts into sympathy?

Luís Vaz de Camões (via observando)
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Poetry makes life what lights and music do the stage. Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers (via observando)

(via opheliacnymphet)

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