We aren’t the things we collect, acquire, read. We are, for as long as we are here, only love. The things we loved. The people we loved. And these, I think these really do live on.
I was melancholy when you went away.
― Anton Chekhov, from a letter to A. S. Suvorin written c. January 1891 (via violentwavesofemotion)
Excuse me for being so intellectual. I know you would prefer something nice and feminine and affectionate.
― Zelda Fitzgerald (b. 24 July 1900)
For what it’s worth: It’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.
― F. Scott Fitzgerald (via amortizing)