"Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Sometimes one can lay hands on and say ‘This is it’? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it – that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?"
Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
"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