dream a little dream.
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theparisreview: “Although a novel takes place in the larger world, there’s always some drive in it that is entirely personal—even if you don’t know it while you’re doing it. I realized some years after A Book of Common Prayer was finished that it was about my anticipating Quintana’s growing up. I wrote it around 1975, so she would have been nine, but I was already anticipating separation and actually working through that ahead of time. So novels are also about things you’re afraid you can’t deal with.” Joan Didion in her bedroom, from issue 176, Spring 2006.

so, i was offered a ride to and from my university that I went to for two years (it’s about 45 minutes one way by car). While I love the school, I hated living there because it was so small town (smaller than the town I live in now). But this means I could go there and not have to live there.

It’s evidently going to cost me about $7 a week (three days a week) depending on gas prices.

The downside is that the ride is with a boy I hardly know. 

south-england: Which way »» Thomas Hanks
ohfairies: I want to go back ♡
Come sleep with me: we won’t make love. Love will make us.
written by Julio Cortázar 

(Source: honeysighs, via floriental)

i arguably live one of the worst, most lonely lifestyles.

floralls: (by rosemary*)
bag-of-dirt: A German boy walks down a dirt road lined with the corpses of hundreds of concentration camp inmates who died of starvation and disease at Bergen-Belsen in northwestern Germany. 20 April 1945
You talk like winter rain.
written by Reginald Shepherd, A Muse 

(Source: seabois, via seabois)
My heart is so tired.
written by Markus Zusak, The Book Thief 

(Source: larmoyante, via nurserywords)