I no longer have the feeling of emptiness around me. I am so far away from my soft and gentle home. Yet for June too, I was an archangel. They all want to sanctify me, to turn me into an effigy, a myth. They want to idealize me and pray to me, use me for consolation, comfort. Curse my image, the image of me which faces me every day with the same over-fineness, over delicacy, the pride, the vulnerability which makes people want to preserve me, threat me with care. Curse my eyes which are sad, and my hands which are delicate, and my walk, which is a glide, my voice, which is a whisper, all that can be used for a poem, and too fragile to be raped, violated, used. I am near death from solitude, near dissolution. - anais nin
“Romantic love is mental illness. But it’s a pleasurable one. It’s a drug. It distorts reality, and that’s the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw.” – Fran Lebowitz
"And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in it's appalling self- consciousness, is horrible and overpowering." - Sylvia Plath
Yes, she was beautiful.
They were kind of spectacular. Wide and doe shaped and the very definition of tenderness. Full, pouting lips she was ever so slightly biting down on. Her hair? Soft enough to cocoon himself in and never, ever, come out.
He'd been hoping she'd be homely or interesting or simply cute. Not a chance. She was magnificent. - Derailed by James Siegel.
"I want to live only for ecstasy. Small doses, moderate loves, all half-shades, leave me cold. I like extravagance. Letters which give the postman a stiff back to carry, books which overflow from their covers, sexuality which bursts the thermometers. I am aware also that I am becoming June." - Anais Nin