You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars (via bookmania)

Libba Bray, Going Bovine

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything it is because we are dangerously near to wanting nothing. There are two opposing poles of wanting nothing: When one is so full and rich and has so many inner worlds that the outer world is not necessary for joy, because joy emanates from the inner core of one’s being. When one is dead and rotten inside and there is nothing in the world: not all the woman, food, sun or mind-magic of others can reach the wormy core of one’s gutted soul planet.

Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath (via bookmania)

Hank, writing is something you do alone; it’s a profession for introverts who want to tell a story but don’t want to make eye contact while telling it. And on some level, writing is the exact opposite of this. [x]

(Source: chronicallyannoyed, via effyeahnerdfighters)

Harry Potter isn’t real? Oh no! Wait, wait, what do you mean by real? Is this video blog real? Am I real if you can see me and hear me, but only through the internet? Are you real if I can read your comment but I don’t know who you are or what your name is or where you’re from or what you look like or how old you are? I know all of those things about Harry Potter. Maybe Harry Potter’s real and you’re not.