I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes—everywhere. Until it’s every breath I breathe. I’m going to go out like a fucking meteor
I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless little flea. And then I’ll put that flea inside of a box. And I’ll put that box inside of another box. And I’ll send that box to myself. And when it arrives…I’LL SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER!
I have a ‘to-read’ pile as massive as my existential crisis.
You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.
Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran (via ohteenscanrelate)