|—||Eckhart Tolle (via lazyyogi)|
Stephanie Perkins, Lola and the Boy Next Door
|—||Rumi (via lazyyogi)|
There is no such thing as the perfectibility of love. Yet we exhaust ourselves over it, haphazardly taking the risks which we know outweigh the rewards. Maybe it’s ignorance, or denial, or perhaps a grotesque concoction of both. Either way it’s an adulteration on self-mutilating levels. But we do it time and time again- a mistake in perpetual repetition. It’s not love which is crazy, but us. You have got to be viably off your rocker to try something again when it’s dismantled you before, leaving your guts and wellness there on the concrete which you had so naively considered home. And the chief misery of it all is you never feel less vulnerable or better equipped from the time before. Never do we neglect ourselves more than when we allow ourselves to fall in love.
|—||Anneli Rufus (via ileu)|
— John Keats