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𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 🌺,

𝘚𝘰 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

—Queen Esther

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺, 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨—𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝖳𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝖮𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖺

—𝖠 𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗅, 𝖩𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅.

"𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡; 𝑂𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘩𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑠, 𝑀𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑏𝑦𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑."

― Benedict Smith

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑒, 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑤; 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑡𝑦𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑒, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡, 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜. 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤; 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜. 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑊𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤; 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒: 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡, 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜.

—Emily Jane Brontë, The Night

"𝐽𝑒 𝑡’𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝐴𝑢𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑑’ℎ𝑢𝑖. 𝐶𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑖𝑟. 𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝑃𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠".

—Michelle Hodkin,The Retribution of Mara Dyer (the third book).

—Sound of Music (1965)

—The Golden Apple of Discord 🍎

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘭𝘥— 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, “𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵,” 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭— 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴.

—A Lady and Her Quill, Journal of Wandering Thoughts

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘰'𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱, 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

—Unknown author, The Last Unicorn (inspired by Peter S. Beagle’s novel)

Golden child, Lion boy; Tell me what it's like to conquer. Fearless child, Broken boy; Tell me what it's like to burn.

—oh darling, even Rome fell // p.s.

—𝓐𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭

"All I am is literature and I am not willing or able to be anything else"

—Franz Kafka

Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow”. Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don’t have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

If I cannot love you openly like I wish, if I cannot hold your hand when walking Or wrap you in my arms late at night. Then I will love you silently, in my mind and behind closed eyes For there, there is no rejection or heartbreak. And surely it is better to love silently than to not love at all?

—unknown

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Hey 🌸˚˖⋆, so lately I've been thinking of ways to romanticize my college experience and decluttering and re-organizing my digital space with Notion has been helping with this.

What is your favorite kind of aesthetic for Notion.

I swear I don't lack skills to communicate, I'm simply too tired to engage..

—Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Today, I encountered a little black girl who looked frail and seemed timid, and it nearly brought me to tears. There was something in her eyes, a glint of quiet pain, of low self-esteem. She seemed afraid to speak, to take up space, to simply exist in the fullness of who she is. And in that moment, my mind instantly went to my younger sister. And of course, to my younger self. I see so much of myself in my little sister. I love her with everything in me, and I would do whatever it takes to shield her from the cruelty of the world—from my father's rage, from society’s judgment, from the harshness I was never protected from. I couldn’t save my younger self from all the things that broke me. The things that silenced me, made me shrink, made me feel like I wasn’t enough. So when I see little girls like that—like her—I feel this deep, aching need to protect them. I glanced at her multiple times today, and she might’ve thought I was judging her. I wish I could’ve told her I wasn’t. That I cared. That in a world where others might overlook her or treat her like she’s invisible, I see her. I would be there for her. But I couldn’t say it. Because that would've scared her off. I hope I see her again. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t this sensitive. I wish I could just numb myself just a little, so I wouldn’t have to feel so deeply all the time. But here I am, writing this with tears in my eyes. Empathy is starting to feel like a curse to me.

—A lady and Her Quill, Journal of wandering thoughts.

— Albert Camus

"People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones"

― Alfred Stieglitz, My Faraway One: Selected Letters of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz

—Joan of Arc