May 2011
4 posts
Nothing’s perfect but it’s all there is This. Now. The drip of plain words. Yes. Love. This.
May 27th
May 27th
May 27th
3 notes
May 27th
2 notes
April 2011
8 posts
Apr 10th
6 notes
1 tag
sadness under the skin sometimes there is no skin only sadness
Apr 10th
1 tag
Apr 10th
2 notes
1 tag
Apr 10th
Apr 10th
Apr 10th
5 notes
Apr 7th
7,796 notes
Apr 6th
58 notes
March 2011
10 posts
Mar 24th
i’ve changed and everything that meant something is nothing, and all that black is everything, underneath i think, its still the same.
Mar 24th
Mar 24th
Mar 24th
Mar 24th
Mar 23rd
92 notes
Mar 20th
Mar 20th
“You can’t measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of...”
– Milan Kundera (via kari-shma)
Mar 15th
2,807 notes
Mar 15th
60 notes
February 2011
1 post
Feb 10th
17 notes
January 2011
3 posts
Jan 25th
Jan 11th
Jan 11th
December 2010
8 posts
Dec 25th
Dec 19th
Dec 16th
Dec 16th
where have the WOMEN of this world gone? I’m SO bored of these skinny little faux-badass girls/children parading round topless on my dashboard. Riots not diets, dickheads.
Dec 10th
Dec 10th
Dec 10th
45 notes
You are everything you dislike in others.
Dec 10th
November 2010
2 posts
Nov 23rd
1 tag
formspring.me
Ask me anything http://formspring.me/ohmystephanie
Nov 5th
October 2010
4 posts
Oct 22nd
1,784 notes
“There is no perfection, only life.”
– Milan Kundra
Oct 22nd
2 tags
Oct 10th
4 tags
Oct 10th
September 2010
4 posts
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”-Sylvia Plath
Sep 8th
Sep 7th
Sep 7th
“We all need someone to look at us. we can be divided into four categories...”
–  Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Sep 2nd
August 2010
7 posts
Aug 29th
Aug 24th
Aug 24th
Aug 24th
Aug 24th
more than myself.
“Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind, in the commonplaces of the asylum where the cracked mirror or my own selfish death outstared me … I tapped my own head; it was glass, an inverted bowl. It’s small thing to rage inside your own bowl. At first it was private. Then it was more than...
Aug 24th
1 note