𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

Hello! For those who doesn't know, this profile is a collection of quotes and stuff - It's not really a project to engage followers, it mostly about sharing the darkest parts of us; finding comfort in it somehow and knowing we're not alone! Thanks u'all <3

"The hypnotic effect of poetry." (Anaïs Nin)

"I’m not afraid of love / or its consequence of light." (Joy Harjo)

“My love, my sweet love, I live in another world. A kinder and simpler world. A world of moons and stars and forests, a world filled with danger and magical beauty. It’s the old world but to me it’s new. You must not be fearful, dear, I quite like it there.” (Katherine Mansfield)

"and the torment / of having no tongue to speak her / love, to speak / her longing" (Denise Levertov)

"The last days of August had come and gone, and September was upon us." (Daphne du Maurier)

"How many losses does it take to stop / a heart, / to lay waste to the vocabularies of / desire?" (Dorianne Laux)

"Anything I've ever tried to keep / by force I've lost." (Marie Howe)

"September approaching... I feel I owe myself a brief respite of leisure and no rushing around. I can't face the dead reality. I want rainy days, lanterns and hundreds moons twining in dark leaves, music spilling out and echoing yet inside my head." (Sylvia Plath)

"Heart with its hundred mouths open. / Heart with its hundred eyes closed." (Dorianne Laux)

"eyes drunk and swimming with stars." (Dorianne Laux)

"I fell onto love like a sword," (Yves Olade)

"and my head aches a little, and my heart a little more" (Emily Dickinson)

"Is it the sea you hear in me, its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?" (Sylvia Plath)

"I was on my own with my broken self. My grief, my terror, my terror that my life was broken, that no one would ever truly see me or know me again." (Suzanne Scanlon)

"I understood the melancholy of your solitude." (Marcel Proust)

“Don’t let my silence wound you. I'm just tired of words.” (Manuel Bandeira)

"25 August. My interest in my own poem was dying down like an old fire, but you've fanned the embers and today there is quite a little blaze." (Vita Sackville-West, from the letters to Virginia Woolf)

"how many centuries deep is your wound?" (Adonis)

"Through the dark cold and the empty desolation, / The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters / Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning." (T.S. Eliot)

"The day was beautiful, warm and clear. It was the end of August." (Fyodor Dostoevsky)