And those they do not kill
will die anyway
at the destruction they see
at the loss.

*
[semi-hiatus]



“You spend a lot of time building walls, Hannibal. It’s natural to want to see if someone is clever enough to climb over them.”

— Hannibal, 1x08: Fromage

I just want to take a moment and point out the fact that I mirror people I like. So if you ever notice that I use asterisks to mark actions while speaking to you and that I use dashes for someone else, and you use asterisks and that person uses dashes, this isn’t because of peer pressure or something like that, I’m just mirroring your typing style because I like you (◡‿◡✿) Same with punctuation and capitalization — if I like you, I will emulate your typing patterns.

Still, the longer I was around her, the more I could see the colours of her mind and the recesses of her heart. There was a beast in there. But there was also a girl who was afraid of being a beast, and who wondered if other people had beasts in their hearts too. There was strength, and there was also just the determination to look strong. She guarded herself like a secret.
Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily   (via prettypeachpeonies)

(Source: larmoyante, via dandeliondreamers)

Your score for emotional intelligence is 30/45. This is better than 91.7146% of people that have taken this test.

*happy dance*

Does anyone else want to take the emotional intelligence test? [link] I have a theory that most people on Tumblr have very high EQ, so if you do take it, let me know what you score~

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aseaofquotes:

Franz Kafka, The Basic Kafka

So usually there’s always a few jerks who sit in the parking lot outside my apartment and blast shitty rap music, but today there are people out there with guitars singing country songs at the top of their lungs and I can’t decide which is more awful.

I feel slightly weird for finding Hannibal attractive, but then again, I’m attracted to power so I guess it’s understandable, because who’s more in control than Hannibal? No one.

I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the top of the beer can.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals (via larmoyante)

Things that confuse me:

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