“ He knew that there was passion there, but there was no shadow of it in her eyes or on her mouth; there was a faint spray of champagne on her breath. She clung nearer desperately and once more he kissed her and was chilled by the innocence of her kiss, by the glance that at the moment of contact looked beyond him out into the darkness of the night, the darkness of the world.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night (via larmoyante)
“ When someone won’t let you in, eventually you stop knocking.
— Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (via dylinquent)
“ We don’t talk anymore and you don’t seem to care.
— A 10-word story (via diagnosticate)