It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.
J.K. Rowling (via kushandwizdom)

Well then… I guess I have been depressed before…

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I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.
Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets (via kushandwizdom)

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I’m in love with you,” he said quietly.

"Augustus," I said.

"I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars (via kushandwizdom)

3,778 notes 

vixleonard:

I feel like this photo set sums up the entire series.  The men talk about doing shit; the women get shit done.

(Source: thedailylovejournal)

238,805 notes