The Wrote and the Writ

My anger left me as quickly as it had come, and again I felt weak.
“What is it then?” I asked. "There’s something. What is it?"
There was a silence, and then he replied, "Let’s say that from time to time you irritate me just a tiny little bit."
"That’s rather obvious," I said. "But I’d like to know why."
"You once explained to me that love isn’t everything for you," he said in a sudden burst of volubility. "All right. But then why do you insist on its being everything for me. You aren’t satisfied unless you are all that matters, unless nothing else exists for me but you, unless I devote my whole life to you while you sacrifice nothing of yours. It isn’t fair!"

 Simone de Beauvoir, from The Mandarins (via violentwavesofemotion)

I read you always, even when I hated you.

Jenny Slate for Refinery29, photographed by Atisha Paulson

(Source: inaturdishmanner, via intoyoursunlight)

How can I proceed now, I said, without a self, weightless and visionless, through a world weightless, without illusion?

—Virginia Woolf, from The Waves (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via violentwavesofemotion)


(Source: ludgateing, via rivers-and-roads109)



(via rivers-and-roads109)

Yes, I do want to see you—Yes, I’m very fond of you—Yes-yes yes. I am here.

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West (via violentwavesofemotion)

A trifle can upset her, and then she becomes unfair and aggressive. But you must understand that the reason she becomes so easily hurt is that she’s very vulnerable.

Simone de Beauvoir, from The Mandarins (via violentwavesofemotion)