And Like Roses In His Hands, Death Blooms.

And like roses in his hands, death blooms.

Illuminae by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff (via lessaofpern)

I’m over being a coward. I’m sick of being on pause, of being buried and hidden, of being petrified, in both senses of the word. I don’t want to imagine meadows, I want to run through them.

Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun (via wordsnquotes)

they said you were no god and you made them tear each other apart limb by limb and they pointed up to the skies and said “this is fate” and the stars lamented the fate of the ignorant

(behold the wrath of a wronged empty soul) // s.z (via sprsoldier)

…Many things interested her, and nothing satisfied her entirely.

Ivan Turgenev

,

Fathers and Sons

(via

remuslupyn

)

She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.

Kim Edwards, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter (via wordsnquotes)

I don’t want love if it is not you.

L.W. // 9 word story (via somepiecesofmyheartandsoul)