When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation.
Fill your house with stacks of books, in all the crannies and all the nooks.
She wanted to crawl into his pocket and be safe forever.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald (via)
one time this girl in my art class was telling the table that her eyes change depending on her mood and i told her that that is scientifically impossible and explained to her the facts on how it is impossible and she started crying
why was she talking to a table