I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.
—Richard Siken (via mercurieux)
(Source: seabois, via thewychwood)
She was cold and miserable and everything felt gone.
—Ernest Hemingway, from Up In Michigan (via mercurieux)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via thewychwood)
She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope.
—Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone (via sewnthistle)
(Source: lurii-uchiha-potter, via thewychwood)
