A line from my diary: ‘We are sealed in our own little melancholy atmospheres, like planets, and revolving around the sun, our common but distant desire.’ Not so good, perhaps, but if you steal that line of mine, I’ll actually kill you, for a change. Jack Kerouac to Allen Ginsberg, August, 1945 (via valleycandle)

(via woowoocoolbastards)

It happens that I want you, and so I just haven’t room for any other desires. F. Scott Fitzgerald (via emceelizziegibson)

(Source: hellanne, via magnifiquementtragique)