Get on the plane, get the train,
Walk 300 miles.
Get to her front door and tell her
“I know this is crazy
But I need you now.”
Our lives are too short to always be sensible,
Get the girl.
Distance makes no difference if your eyes light up when she laughs.”—FRS. (via seabelle)
“From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived.”—Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (via bookporn)
“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.”—Anne Lamott (via awelltraveledwoman)
It’ll be like square one where we fell in love Forget about square two, there was no ‘me and you’ Just like square one where we fell in love under the tree Forget about square three, oh that wasn’t me Like square one where we fell in love Forget about square five, I was only half alive