For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth.
1. Lay on the floor of your shower until you can breathe again. Water will always love to love your skin.
2. Start writing with the intention of filling up one page. Write until your pen stops working.
3. Reread a book that once made you cry. Learn something new on every page. Notice how different chapter make you sad. Notice how the book didn’t change and grow; you did.
4. Sleep with your windows open. You can hear both the rain and boys drunkenly singing Frank Sinatra on their deck. Both are equally good.
5. Don’t forget that honey will always taste sweet, but the best way to eat it is off your fingers, laughing.
6. Remember that, sometimes, getting out of bed is enough.
For unhappy girls who like sitting in the sun (h.f.j.
I really, really needed this.
Looking into your eyes was home.
I’ve been looking to live, I’ve been living to find,
freedom from cages that limit my mind.
I’m afraid of time… I mean, I’m afraid of not having enough time. Not enough time to understand people, how they really are, or to be understood myself. I’m afraid of the quick judgements or mistakes everybody makes. You can’t fix them without time.
I don’t broadcast every high & I don’t hide every low. I’m trying to live. I’m not trying to convince the world I have life.
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book…or you take a trip…and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.
Anaïs Nin, from ‘The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934’ (via boulevards
I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?
Haruki Murakami, from ‘Norwegian Wood, (via boulevards