As a child going to your room is a punishment, as a teenager you rarely leave it, and as an adult it’s is a luxury for spare time and precious sleep
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“I want you to come live with me, and die with me, and everything with me.”
— Vladimir Nabokov


The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being “in love”, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Louis de Bernières (via naturaekos)
