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Wednesday, August 27
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Ya no es mágico el mundo, te han dejado.
The world is no longer magical, you’ve been left

Borges. 1964
Wednesday, August 20
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Try to say nothing negative about anybody:

a) for three days
b) for forty-five days
c) for three months


See what happens to your life.
• Yoko Ono
Reblogged from stirringofbirds
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ive decided to stop investing my time in people who dont appreciate it, and take it for granted. makes my life a whole lot easier.
Cassie Coutard

I always wanted to do so but it’s really hard for me to say no. I have to practise…
Reblogged from cassiecoutard
Tuesday, August 19
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The moon and sun are eternal travellers.
Even the years wander on.
A lifetime adrift in a boat,
or in old age leading a tired horse into the years,
every day is a journey,
and the journey itself is home.
Matsuo Bashō, the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan
Saturday, August 09
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Don’t be humble. You’re not that great.
• Golda Meir
Reblogged from bunkercomplex
Wednesday, July 30
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Why’d you wait until we broke up to get hot?
• Seen somewhere in the internuts…
Friday, July 25
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No.
Amy Carter (President Jimmy Carter’s daughter) when asked by a reporter if she had any message for the children of America
Reblogged from livejamie
Wednesday, July 02
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Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth.
• Alan Watts
And I couldn’t agree more…
Reblogged from tightgrip
Sunday, June 29
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Love the ones you can. Touch the ones you can reach. Let the others go.
• Ian McEwan
Reblogged from soupsoup
Monday, June 16
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Fuck you universe, you suck.
• There you go, something to say out loud when things don’t go your way.
Reblogged from tightgrip
Saturday, June 07
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I haven’t had a job in about two months now. I have been too embarrassed to tell anyone, so I go out everyday and don’t come back until six.
confessionizer. That’s serious shit :(
Reblogged from confessionizer
Sunday, May 25
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El bastón, las monedas, el llavero, la dócil cerradura, las tardías notas que no leerán los pocos días que me quedan, los naipes y el tablero, un libro y en sus páginas la ajada violeta, monumento de una tarde sin duda inolvidable y ya olvidada, el rojo espejo occidental en que arde una ilusoria aurora. ¡Cuántas cosas, láminas, umbrales, atlas, copas, clavos, nos sirven como tácitos esclavos, ciegas y extrañamente sigilosas!

Durarán más allá de nuestro olvido
no sabrán nunca que nos hemos ido.
• Jorge Luis Borges