(no subject)
I am updating this out of complete boredom.
my once pleasant weekend has suddenly halted, now that i got screwed over and am now stuck at home on a saturday night; people should learn to organize their plans, or at least communicate their agendas.
Note: I am NOT your bitch. I am nobody's bitch.
Except maybe winona ryder's. if i ever met her; because she is so damn sexy.
"For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!"
- White Nights
I'm going to try and post Dostoevsky more often, because his brilliance gives me goosebumps.
If I think of anything else to write, I'll let you know; Pce pce
my once pleasant weekend has suddenly halted, now that i got screwed over and am now stuck at home on a saturday night; people should learn to organize their plans, or at least communicate their agendas.
Note: I am NOT your bitch. I am nobody's bitch.
Except maybe winona ryder's. if i ever met her; because she is so damn sexy.
"For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!"
- White Nights
I'm going to try and post Dostoevsky more often, because his brilliance gives me goosebumps.
If I think of anything else to write, I'll let you know; Pce pce