“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.”

Love, hear thou

How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling,

Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling,

Then as now.

James Joyce (via chimneyfish)

When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see all that made me - flying around in little pieces. 

Sometimes I’m terrified of my own heart: 

of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants.

The way it stops and starts.

- Edgar Allan Poe

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