Filthy.

Melancholia

I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth.

Have you ever just looked at someone and thought, “I really love you”. They’re just talking or humming or watching a movie or reading a book or laughing or something, and there’s something about them in that moment—their body is alive, there’s a light in their eyes, something—that makes you think, “I just really love you.”

(Source: text-pistol, via warmsmile-kindeyes)

Do act mysterious. It always keeps them coming back for more.

—Carolyn Keene, Nancy’s Mysterious Letter (via quoted-books)

‘Long ago’, he said, ‘long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.’

—F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Winter Dreams” (via fuckyeahfitzgerald)