Jan 20th / 1 note †
These joys were so trifling as to be as imperceptible as grains of gold among the sand, and in moments of depression she saw nothing but the sand; yet there were brighter moments when she felt nothing but joy, saw nothing but the gold.
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Dec 14th / 1 note †
Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme it just has to touch someone where your hands couldn’t.
Oct 26th / 60,252 notes †
