Avslutar den här vardagsveckan med det allra sista knippet av era favoritcitat, ett par fantastiska kvar som jag tycker ni ska läsa för att göra den här helt sinnessjukt slaskiga februaridagen lite mer glittrande.
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Det finns en massa romaner som handlar om kvinnor som går omkring och älskar en man i tjugo-trettio år, utan något egentligt hopp om att någonsin få honom. De lider så stilla och ihärdigt och jag bestämde mig för att bli en sådan kvinna. Jag skulle lära mig att leva med min längtan och bli sådär blek, stark och vacker. Om tio år skulle han ha två små söta barn och bo i en tjusig villa och då ska jag sitta på hans altan och erbjuda mig att vara barnvakt och tvätta hans kläder, bara för att i smyg få stryka med handen över hans använda skjortor.
– Katarina Von Bredow
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I’m drowning, and you’re standing three feet away screaming ”learn how to swim”.
– c.j.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat.
— Robert Frost
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Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
– ur Sputnik sweetheart av Haruki Murakami
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I miss that world where Stalingrad is not a former name of a Soviet city
but some distant metro station
Where Shakespeare is not a British writer
but a second hand book store
Where Luxembourg is not a small European country
but a park where we used to go jogging
And where Maison pour des étudiants suédois
is a place where we had pickled herring
– en bloggläsares pappa
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i like wearing lipstick because you leave marks on literally everything omg. kiss a boy’s cheek? my boy now. drink out of a cup? my cup forever. don’t even think about having coffee out of that thing. it’s like marking your territory
– okänd.
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Att prata med honom känns som att drunkna i ljummet vatten.
– ur Den andre Will Grayson av John Green & David Levithan
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Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
– Frida Kahlo
pic source.
Translation. The last batch of your favorite quotes from this post.
