you want a man with a strong jawline so you have a sturdy place to sit
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
— Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums (via dayzea)
are made of water–-
we were not designed
to hold ourselves together
rather run freely
— Beau Taplin, “water born” (via aesthesos)
Unquestionably, my soul was as obscene as an open fly.
— Celine, Journey to the End of the Night (via lovely—delight)