Roxanne, 21. Québec,Canada.

“Books don’t offer real escape, but they can stop a mind scratching itself raw.”

—   Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell  (via awesem)

(via amalijaa)

“Chance encounters are what keep us going.”

—   Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via quotethat)

“I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love.”

—   (via avvfvl)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via moriarty)

If you are female, expressing hatred for your own body is not just acceptable, it’s practically de rigeur. Failure to indulge in the requisite amount of self-flagellation – my thighs! my skin! my face! – isn’t just negligent, it’s unfeminine. Self-hatred is fundamental to how femininity is constructed, more fundamental than any of the more obvious external symbols (dress, make-up, shoes). What matters is not that you are beautiful, but you know your place in the beauty hierarchy (and since every woman ages, every woman’s place will eventually be somewhere at the bottom).

Young women are encouraged to bond over their dislike of excess body hair, surplus flesh and “uneven” skin. They are meant to do so in a jovial way, egged on by perky adverts informing them what “real women” do: worry about having underarms beautiful enough for a sleeveless top, celebrate curves with apologetic booty shakes and cackle ruefully over miserable Sex-and-the-City-style lunches of Ryvita and Dulcolax. It’s a gendered ritual; men get football and booze, women get control pants and detoxes. We are supposed, of course, to be grateful. Hey, you don’t have to be perfect! Just know you’re not perfect and act accordingly, with the appropriate levels of guilt and shame!

Fairy tale after fairy tale tells us that what matters is being beautiful “on the inside” but what does that really mean? It means submission, obedience and the suppression of one’s own desires. Don’t be haughty and proud. Clean the hearth. Kiss the frog. Love the beast. Suck it up when you’re replaced by a younger model. Sure, you may look fine, but you mustn’t feel fine. You mustn’t be vain. You mustn’t be angry. All fury and pain must be turned back on itself. That way you’ll be a real princess: silent, fragile and never threatening to challenge the status quo.

“You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.”

—   I really needed to hear that right now. (via ladyduffney)

(Source: bratsquad, via high-mom)



Love at first sight is dangerous.

This is so cool.

(via arrestomomentum)


i feel sorry for the people who see me staring at them from the corner of their eye like i promise im not trying to start shit like i really just observing people and their behavioral quirks and reactions to their surroundings like i jsut lIKE TO OBSERVE im so rRY

“I firmly believe in small gestures: pay for their coffee, hold the door for strangers, over tip, smile or try to be kind even when you don’t feel like it, pay compliments, chase the kid’s runaway ball down the sidewalk and throw it back to him, try to be larger than you are— particularly when it’s difficult. People do notice, people appreciate. I appreciate it when it’s done to (for) me. Small gestures can be an effort, or actually go against our grain (“I’m not a big one for paying compliments…”), but the irony is that almost every time you make them, you feel better about yourself. For a moment life suddenly feels lighter, a bit more Gene Kelly dancing in the rain.”

—   Jonathan Carroll  (via psych-facts)

(via less-human-more-being)

“I’m bleeding, I’m not just making conversation.”

—   Richard Siken, excerpt from “Wishbone”  (via 18426)

(Source: larmoyante, via 18426)

“For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth.”

—   (via heartsoulandcurves)

(Source: astrasperas, via bandanasonmermaids)