"Let our friendship be a caprice..."
Think like a man of action, and act like a man of thought.
Sallust (via itsquoted)

I sought your beauty in the words of men, yet I found it in the silence of gods.

Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;… In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.
Søren Kierkegaard (via itsquoted)

As I descend inexorably toward the infernal depths of nihilism, I yet endeavor abortively to grasp the hand of one in whom I may find the salvation that exists not in the wretched existence in which we all languish. 

The desperation with which I precipitate that dysfunctional sentimentality of mine into the vacuous space by which I am surrounded subordinates the consideration of others to the consideration of myself. Such a reprehensible propensity contravenes the principles of integrity on which I still attempt to predicate my conduct. 

Perhaps “nihilism” is far too strong of a word, for I yet believe in notions such as “integrity” and “rectitude.” These human beacons are wanting of their youthful brilliance, however; scarcely a few feet beyond their situations can be seen their promises of salvation achieved by unwavering adherence to stringent virtuosity, for the frenetic tempest of my heart imbibes even the brightest of lights. 

I know with irrefutable certainty that all of my thoughts, suppositions, and absurd hypotheses are presumptuous and unfounded; however, when has the irrationality of one’s sentiments ever dissuaded one from painting the world with a selfish hue? 

Truly, I wish I could return to the days of my youth and suppress my tongue and Romantic zeal, so that I may never obtrude my ghastly personage upon your beautiful soul. I wish for nothing less than to afford you the preferability of my absence. 

But alas, that time has gone. Little can I do other than silently take leave, and allow the havoc I have wreaked to be sequestered into the portions of the mind that obstinately refuse ingress to ignorant reminiscence. 

My apologies mean nothing to you, nor do they mean anything to me. In consequence, I find no reason to speak. 

No reason to speak. 

Everyone has a 2am and a 2pm personality. I’m more interested in the monster you become at 2am rather than the human being you pretend to be at 2pm.
(via missinyouiskillingme)

I bathed my wounds in the saltwater ocean, 

And with my hands I grasped the gentle undulations of that 

Serenely sweet sea. 

As my tattered personage waded into the great depths, 

My skin began to simmer and burn and blaze and degrade, 

And my lungs became imbued with water that my touch corrupted with 

Interminable glee. 

I felt my breath silently purloined, and my infernally inflamed 

Heart commenced its rapid pulsations that so indicated the emergence 

Of a throe; presently, however, the conclusion of my anguish was 


The ethereal wisps of my absconding soul 

Drowned in conjunction with that weary corporeal mass. 

The inexorable tide returned the fetid remnants to the shore, 

And that night, a furious tempest disturbed the indignant sea. 

I now understand that your mellifluous smiles were superimposed upon the melancholy flames of your soul.

Am I so difficult to understand and so easy to misunderstand in all my intentions, plans, and friendships? Ah, we lonely ones and free spirits—it is borne home to us that in some way or other we constantly appear different from what we think. Whereas we wish for nothing more than truth and straightforwardness, we are surrounded by a net of misunderstanding, and despite our most ardent wishes we cannot help our actions being smothered in a cloud of false opinion, attempted compromises, semi-concessions, charitable silence, and erroneous interpretations. Such things gather a weight of melancholy on our brow; for we hate more than death the thought that pretence should be necessary, and such incessant chafing against these things makes us volcanic and menacing. From time to time we avenge ourselves for all our enforced concealment and compulsory self-restraint. We emerge from our cells with terrible faces, our words and deeds are then explosions, and it is not beyond the verge of possibility that we perish through ourselves. Thus dangerously do I live! It is precisely we solitary ones that require love and companions in whose presence we may be open and simple, and the eternal struggle of silence and dissimulation can cease.
Friedrich Nietzsche, from Selected Letters (via c-ovet)

Only the most obtuse would contend that her perception of me diverges from that which is ubiquitous. Yet, by virtue of some inexplicable, though hardly lamentable, propensity, she abides me with an almost unprecedented congeniality. 

Her kindness is such that my heart quivers with a childish appreciation each time that it is employed; though her amiability is a transparent affectation, it nevertheless succeeds in thawing the ice in my veins. 

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.
Carl Sandburg, from “Dreams in the Dusk” (via litverve)
Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart
Until, in our own despair, against our will,
Comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.
Aeschylus (via itsquoted)
We’re all of us sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life.
Tennessee Williams (via itsquoted)

I fell in love with the blazing disks of Your summer eyes,
With the speed of a plane soaring Through the tender skies,
And as the world reposed—laid its Heart to rest—
Hither and thither went my love’s Tempest.

With flaming tresses reflective of Aurora’s work—
Within each solar fauna lurked—
You lit the kindling sequestered in my Eyes,
And painted my love with autumnal Dyes.