The people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; meetings which could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping… 

something runs among them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles, until all combinations are used up in a moment, and other characters come on to the scene.

— Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

- The History of Love, Nicole Krauss

"I kind of really wish I had a lover to wash away this loneliness. There’s very different types of loneliness — the kind that you need friends for, the kind that you need someone you know, the kind where you’re in a crowded room, and the kind where you want someone who knows you, inseams and soul, and will kiss your lips, and smile, and tell you that they love you.

I mostly feel the last one, or two."

via cicatricose

Dumbledore:

"And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing.

That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped."

- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling

I want to love you softly, inscribing poems into the corners of your arms. You will be the books on dusty shelves, once forgotten and now found. I want to love you softly until the sun blinds our eyes and all we are left with is the braille on our skin. We will lick our lips and taste the salt of the ocean and feel the thunder in our bones. There will be words spilling from our mouths like raindrops and we will laugh because the storm is really inside of us. But first, I want to love you softly.

kelsey of pigmenting

a little something i chanced upon while leafing through Supermama's scrapbook.

who knows who wrote it and who answered? who knows indeed? i should like to think of two wonderful characters communing, separated by mere Time but living in the same beautiful idea. where one ends, the other is taken up..