(Source: fuckyeahnabokov, via dinwos)
I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead; men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas
—Charles Bukowski
(Source: blua)
(Source: mylifeasosama, via blua)
moledro
n. a feeling of resonant connection with an author or artist you’ll never meet, who may have lived centuries ago and thousands of miles away but can still get inside your head and leave behind morsels of their experience, like the little piles of stones left by hikers that mark a hidden path through unfamiliar territory.
(Source: dictionaryofobscuresorrows, via dinwos)
(via dinwos)
(Source: i-v-o-r-y-y, via ache)
Socializing is as exhausting as giving blood. People assume we loners are misanthropes, just sitting thinking, ‘Oh, people are such a bunch of assholes,’ but it’s really not like that. We just have a smaller tolerance for what it takes to be with others. It means having to perform. I get so tired of communicating.
“And may I deduce that you who rarely strays from the path that runs from your home to the Diogenes Club, and never on a Monday when they serve your favourite potted shrimps, must be here for some far more important reason than my stag party.”
“You know, he’s nothing like as slow witted as you’ve been leading me to believe, Sherly.”
(via nathansnape)
