If there is a God, He will have to beg my forgiveness. A phrase that was carved on the walls of a concentration camp cell during WWII by a Jewish prisoner (via enflurane)
He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true. Jake Christie, Small Stories (via larmoyante)
cat doesn’t want to get out of nice warm bath [x]
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girls just wanna have fun(ds for university)