you're in my blood like holy wine

isn't she lovely made from love

bem-vinda, I. ♥  
o mundo ficou melhor, a partir de hoje. pelo menos, o meu.

bea says...

that the art of reading is slowly dying,
that it is an intimate ritual,
that a book is a mirror
that offers us only
what we already carry inside us,
that when we read
we do it with all our heart and mind,
and great readers
are becoming more scarce by the day.

build your tether rain-out from your fragments

and you can, and you can, and you can wild up around me

the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day

Nothing you can make that can't be made.

No one you can save that can't be saved.

Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.

It's easy.

b.i.l.l.i.e.h.o.l.i.d.a.y

set your life on fire

seek those who fan your flames

f5 [function key]

bygone days

I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.

| Charles Bukowski |

Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.

| Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann |