It’s a party on the inside.
written by Alex Turner on his lack of showing emotion.  (via lightbluedays)

(Source: araws, via daisycrown)

Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording —all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.
written by Sylvia Plath  (via oh-girl-among-the-roses)

(Source: raccoonwounds, via garden-hands)

Elegant clothes, you want to be seen with her
Under your tweeds you sweat like a teenager
Begging you to sit for a portrait on the wall
To hang in the dark of some parliamentary hall

(Source: eteriese, via twodoorcinemakid)