(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
— “The Uses of Sorrow,” Mary Oliver (via clavicola)
There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.
— Jean-Paul Sartre (via frambuesas)
Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.
— Neil Gaiman (via venebelle)
