― Vladimir Nabokov, Letter To His Wife Véra

— Cynthia So, If You Still Recognise Me

Li T'ai-po, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from a poem titled "Eternally Thinking of Each Other,"

Joy Sullivan, “When My Friend Is Low, We Walk by the River”, Instructions for Traveling West

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, from a letter featured in The Life & Letters of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

He said he loved me, but his silence screamed louder than his words.

some days progress feels as small as a single breath drawn in darkness - trembling, uncertain, barely there at all. but remember: even that whispered inhale is the universe continuing its ancient dance through your bones, even that fragile moment is your story refusing to end.

when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’