If you are depressed, you are living in the past.
If you are anxious, you are living in the future.
If you are at peace, you are living in the present.
Lao Tzu (via psych-facts)
Everyone you idolize wakes up scared to be themselves sometimes.
Pete Wentz (dec. 2005)

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse.  “You become.  It takes a long time.  That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The Velveteen Rabbit (or How Toys Become Real) by Margery Williams, 1922

"I can feed the caterpillar, and I can whisper through the chrysalis,
but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.”

Hannibal is not one person. He is a surgeon, an artist, a psychiatrist, a flower-arranger, a gourmet cook, an oenophile, a brew-meister, a boy who lost his sister, a man who can’t stop killing, and a god. And he gets hungry.

Janice Poon (via starlightandcrimescenes)

Best. Description. Ever.

(via idontfindyouthatinteresting)

If I saw you every day, forever, I’d remember this time.
Thomas Harris, Hannibal (via ironandsilverstarling)
He’s a cemetery mink. He lives down in a ribcage in the dry leaves of a heart.
Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs
I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me.
Tracee Ellis Ross (via thedapperproject)
I can’t think of anything more perfect than something that you thought was gone returning.
Ezra Koenig (via quotestuff)
I can’t tell you just how wonderful she is. I don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (via larmoyante)