Hopeless Wanderer

“If you can’t live longer, live deeper.”

C’era un acero piuttosto grande di fronte alla scuola (uno dei quattro o cinque alberi che crescevano su quel lato fortunato della strada),e proprio in quel momento una bambina di sette,otto anni s’era nascosta lì dietro. Aveva indosso una giacchettina blu scuso a doppio petto e un berretto che aveva quasi la stessa tonalità di rosso della coperta del letto nella stanza di Van Gogh ad Arles.
Da dove si trovava Zooey,anzi,il berretto della bambina non era molto dissimile da una chiazza di vernice. A qualche metro di distanza,il suo cane -un giovane bassotto con collare e guinzaglio di cuoio verde- stava fiutando per ritrovarla e correva in centro all’impazzata,col guinzaglio che gli si trascinava dietro. Pareva quasi che non riuscisse a sopportare l’angoscia del distacco;e quando infine riuscì ad intercettare l’odore della padroncina,non fu certo troppo presto. Per entrambi,la gioia del ricongiungimento fu immensa. Il bassotto emise un piccolo guaito e si acquattò in avanti scondinzolando estasiato fino a che la padroncina,gridandogli qualcosa,scavalcò di corsa la siepe metallica che circondava l’albero e se lo prese in braccio. Gli disse una serie di parole di lode nell’argot privato che faceva parte del gioco,lo rimise giù,afferrò il guinzaglio,e insieme si diressero allegramente verso ovest,verso la Fifth Avenue e il parco,scomparendo alla vista di Zooey.
Zooey appoggiò la mano contro il telaio della finestra,quasi volesse spingerlo in alto per aprirla e sporgersi a vedere i due che s’allontanavano. Ma si trattava della mano che teneva il sigaro,ed egli esitò un secondo di troppo. Aspirò una boccata di fumo. -Accidenti,- disse, -ce ne sono di cose belle al mondo. E quando dico belle intendo belle. Siamo degli idioti a svicolare sempre dalle cose. Sempre,sempre,sempre lì ad annotare tutti gli accidenti che capitano al nostro piccolo e schifoso io-.
Franny e Zooey, J.D.Salinger (via scimmiarticaincompresa)
When someone makes you the happiest person and the saddest person at the same time, that’s when it’s real. That’s when it’s worth something.(via the-taintedtruth)
1) Learn to put on your bracelets and zip up your dresses by yourself. There will be times when you will be alone.
2) Get on a long plane ride. Look out the window. Understand the immensity of our world. Understand your insignificance. Understand your absolute importance.
3) Press the send button. If you don’t say it now, you never will.
4) Do not sneer at happiness or roll your eyes at sadness. Be aware that apathy is not healthy.
5) You are more than the amount of people who want to have sex with you.
6) That pit in your stomach when he doesn’t text you back, it shouldn’t be there. No one should be able to control you like that.
7) Shopping is cathartic. Buy the shoes and deal with one-ply toilet paper for a while.
8) It will get better, but it will never be perfect. Learn to live through the small moments of happiness. When they disappear, remember they will resurface.
9) I promise that cookie will not change anything (except that it will make you smile).
10) Please, please, take care of yourself. You are everything to somebody. You are everything to your self. That alone is enough.
things to remember, -n.m. (via thegirlwithfernweh)

'Tell me what happens the first time you see a woman naked.'

'The first time you see a woman naked will not be like you imagined. There will be no love, no trust, no intimacy. You won’t even be in the same room as her.

You won’t get to smile as she undresses you and you undress her. You won’t get to calm her nerves with nerves of your own. You won’t get to kiss her, feeling her lips and the edge of her tongue. You won’t get to brush your fingers over the lace of her bra or count her ribs or feel her heartbeat.

The first time you see a woman naked you will be sitting in front of a computer screen watching someone play at intimacy and perform at sex. She will contort her body to please everyone in the room but her. You will watch this woman who is not a woman, pixelated and filtered and customized. She will come ready-made, like an order at a restaurant. The man on the screen will be bigger than you, rougher than you. He will teach you how to talk to her. He will teach you where to put your hands and he will teach you what you’re supposed to like. He will teach you to take what is yours.

You must unlearn this. You must unlearn this twisted sense of love. You must unlearn the definition of pleasure and intimacy you are being taught. Kill this idea of love, this idea of entitlement, this way of scarring one another.’

(via splitterherzen)

(Source: typewriterdaily)

You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.Elizabeth Taylor  (via drapetomania)

(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege)

At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Caitlin Moran (via ratsoff)

(Source: lustsandluxuries)