February 2012
284 posts
cleanwhitesneaks asked: Di ka na naman nagtatrabaho! Hahaha. Bat ang chicks mo sa profile pic mo dito sa tumblr? Ngayon ko lang napansin ito ah! Miss you, babe. :)
There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody else has a...
– Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (via 33113)
Even though no one is capable of being perfect,...
You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll...
– Looking for Alaska by John Green (via thisisfactnotfictionn)
Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces...
– Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (via voraciousplatypodes)
My yesterdays are disappearing, and my tomorrows are uncertain, so what do I...
– Alice Howland (via introvertedbookworm)
I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not...
– Jonathan Safran Foer (via prettypinkunicorns)
People haven’t stopped believing in love. They haven’t stopped wanting to be in...
– Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram (via the-worlds-true-yearning)
I want to believe there is a somebody out there for me. I want to believe that I...
– Rachel Cohn, Dash & Lily’s book of dares (via joevannahfork)
Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My biggest...
– Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)
But don’t forget who you really are. And I’m not talking about your so-called...
– Louis Sachar (via 33113)
I have the deepest affection for intellectual conversations. The ability to just...
– (via unshakeablefaith)
I spent my life learning to feel less. Every day I felt less. Is that growing...
– Jonathan Safran Foer (via 33113)
Stories never really end…even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories...
– Cornelia Funke (Inkspell) (via cardigaans)
People grow old only by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but...
– Douglas MacArthur (via auroramalf0y)
4 tags
I imagine it is hard to go back once you’ve felt the continents in your...
– John Green
4 tags
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and...
– The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath