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I’m sorry I took so much time trying to catch up to you.
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Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.
Weigh in: Is this art? Are his words an outpouring of poetic sadness, or is it just raw emotion? Does art need the intent of being art to be art?
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Arrested Development - Getaway
(via feyminism)
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We all have our roads traveled.
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It’s not pain that gives joy existence, but merely the lack of joy. In returning to the happiness, you aren’t fighting the pain, you’re building something out of nothing.
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(via thepurgatorychronicles)
