Be with someone who you don’t have to hide from, in any way. Whether it’s your morning face before you’ve put any make up on, an embarrassing story about something that happened on your way home, or an ambition you’ve had since you were six years old… make sure you end up with someone who listens to and accepts all of it, and still loves you. A person you can tell your whole life to is a person worth spending a life with. (via sincerely-elenaa)

(Source: your-daisyfreshgirl, via pureblyss)

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I love the little odds and ends people keep in their pockets. Torn pages, old maps, lucky coins, a compass. Everything has a story. You see someone emptying their pockets—loose change, some bills, a license. And then they pull out an old pocket watch or an envelope that’s been folded over too many times and you perk up. Notebooks are the best. Old moleskines, bursting at the seams, ready to overflow. That’s what really gets me. When the pages are pregnant with stories. Words only they know. And I’m filled with envy that they get to live in those pages. You can learn any number of things from a book. But not those words. I want to know their thoughts, their feelings, their stories. I want to hear them over a glass of wine. I want them over breakfast. I want them in my hands and in my throat. I want them to settle in my stomach. (via typewriterdaily)
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As the bus rolled through the Irish countryside, she took out her book. She lived scattered between the pages, well-worn and well-loved, always rereading the passages that found themselves closest to her heart and mind.

She paused and resumed, paused and resumed, sleep puncturing her ability to finish the chapter. When she was awake she would thumb between the bookmark and her point in the novel marked by her index finger. The bookmark, a white slip of paper wrinkled and folded over too many times, carried a record of her travel expenses: one boyfriend, her parents’ approval, and all confidence that she knew which direction she was going. She thought of all she had lost in the last six weeks and all she hoped to gain. The price for getting out and seeing the world was steep, she thought, but I’d rather be anywhere than tethered to my own little corner of it.

"The Student on Holiday" (via typewriterdaily)
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