alexa lima

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well. Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)

I need not speak. But I listen. Virginia Woolf, from The Waves (via violentwavesofemotion)

There isn’t any use my telling you “I love you”.
You know I love you. Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: man-of-prose, via violentwavesofemotion)

Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, or those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don’t there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little. That is to say, you must think of them for a while, a good while, every day several times a day, until they sink for ever in the mud. That’s an order. Samuel Beckett, from The Expelled (via violentwavesofemotion)

That’s what existence means: draining one’s own self dry without the sense of thirst. Jean-Paul Sarte (via violentwavesofemotion)

Should I stop loving you? Wish I could! Easier to build a house on the waves. Vera Pavlova, from Poem 95: If There Is Something To Desire (via violentwavesofemotion)