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The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.
— Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
Reposted bytoolong toolong
Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Reposted bytoolong toolong
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Reposted fromdepersonalizacja depersonalizacja viaDietz Dietz
A person doesn’t know true hurt and suffering until they’ve felt the pain of falling in love with someone whose affections lie elsewhere.
Rose Gordon, Her Imperfect Groom (via thequotejournals)
Reposted frombun bun viaDietz Dietz
actually, since people bitched about 2016 that much anyway i guess the soup-servers had the right idea to just crash and make it unhappen.
Reposted fromshikaji shikaji viaDietz Dietz
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