"When a reader falls in love with a book, it leaves its essence inside him, like radioactive fallout in an arable field, and after that there are certain crops that will no longer grow in him, while other, stranger, more fantastic growths may occasionally be produced."
- Salman Rushdie, Books vs. Goons, L.A. Times, April 24, 2005 (via hoomanao)

(via booklover)

I’m counting down the days till classes start again, this cannot be normal.. 

"It was always better to know than to be ignorant, but sometimes ignorance was much more comfortable."
- Robert Jordan, A Crown of Swords, Chapter twelve, page two hundred and sixty nine (via firesofheaven)
"You hammered the iron that lay on your anvil instead of daydreaming about working silver."
- Robert Jordan, The Path of Daggers, Chapter seven, page one hundred and sixty (via firesofheaven)
"Words could hurt as hard as fists, the wrong words, words you never meant, let loose in a temper."
- Robert Jordan, The Path of Daggers, Chapter ten, page two hundred and thirty seven (via firesofheaven)

cupcakesforcastiel:

themunchkym:

benedick-cumslut:

IS TIME MOVING FASTER OR AM I JUST BECOMING MORE AWARE OF HOW SHORT A YEAR REALLY IS BECAUSE CHRIST ITS ALREADY JULY

Your years are getting shorter proportionally to your life. Every day, you’ve been alive more than you were a year before.

A year for a 1 year old is their WHOLE LIFE and a year for a 5 year old is 1/5th of their life. Your fractions just keep getting smaller, making your years seem shorter.

image

(via pete-tato)

I’m staging a protest against growing up, marching down memory lane. We’ll don the armour and prepare for a battle. Pigtails and wooden swords will fight for nostalgia’s sake. We won’t step on the cracks for fear of breaking our backs, but we’ll do our best to imitate chaos. Filling our ranks with tattered old veterans, loosing stuffing from holes in their sides. Our battle cry - the ice cream truck jingle, and our daily rations are PB and J’s. You won’t hear the orderly stomping of boots but a chorus of laughter rings loud. No royal red capes billowing out, but patched up blankets instead. So I’m staging a protest against Father Time, trying to rewind the clock. I’m wishing for days that have long since passed, remembering a simpler age. I’ll lead the ranks with a toilet roll telescope, and raise the pillowcase flag. Campaigning for memories, and for hopes, and for dreams, we’ll fight like we used to pretend we could. 

"

People leave. That’s one constant that I’ve found so far in life.

"