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Finally a description of me that I can relate to… (Source: http://mini-personality-theories.tumblr.com/post/4229712776)
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Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know. Ernest Hemingway (via aerowrench)
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For me, the depression sets in when I feel detached and insignificant in the lives of the people that I’ve always been concerned about. Or the people that I really care about, but they never seem to care in return. I’ve tried to be numb, detached, uninterested…it doesn’t work for me because I’m always too…
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The curse of being me is that I feel too deeply and attach too easily. I care when I’m not supposed to, and expect when I have no right to.
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Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishing. Anaïs Nin (via decrepito)
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A sane person to an insane society must appear insane. Kurt Vonnegut (via fyeahderrickjensen)
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There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway (via definitelydope)
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no great expectations at all… (Source: http://leilockheart.me)
