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dearprongs:

You’re told that you’re in your head too much, a phrase that’s often deployed against the quiet and cerebral. Or maybe there’s another word for such people: thinkers.

— Susan Cain, Quiet

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Everything is temporary.
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dearprongs:

A bouquet of clumsy words: you know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars. Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go.

— E.E. Cummings

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I don’t know what’s the matter with me—why I’m so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumor.

— David Shields, How Literature Saved My Life (via paveo)

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It’s so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind.

— The Smiths (via im-simply-me)

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misswallflower:

The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.

Tim O’Brien

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