Just calculated that in six weeks, my dissertation coursework and all my exams will be over and I can totally chill! Cannot wait. Plus two week holiday with the boyfriend and my 21st in August. Glorious. 

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Most people are dumb; most people are lazy. Ease is desired. It is also terribly overrated. I like a fight. I like a struggle. Struggles make you stronger and they create better work. Everything means more and achieves more when it is sought, desired, battled. I cannot bear those who take the easy way. We have a desire to do something. Great. Now comes the responsibility, and I think we should exhaust ourselves and give everything of ourselves to achieve our dreams. I used to have a sort of motto: Work, when you love it, is happiness, life at its best. Well, work when you love it, and you can’t get it, and you can’t do it with good people is misery, hell at its purest. I’m in a bit of a hell these days. I don’t like it. I’m fighting it. I don’t settle. We began at some point to idealize innocence and the dream, the desire. The dream eclipses the waking reality. It all starts from dreaming but unless you struggle for it there is really no starting point. What is worst is that you are absolutely content with your scattered dreams. You indulge in the “non-achievable” without trying in the first place. Well, excuse me but I don’t care about your dream if your work stinks. I think if your work stinks, you should get the hell out of the way, out of the business, and go dream another dream. Who, past the age of five or so, cares if they are liked? I always wanted to be respected, and I worked hard and well to be respected and to make things happen for me to be at peace with myself. I was born old and good and determined, and that is just no longer valuable.

Bette Davis, Phone Interview, 1986 (via violentwavesofemotion)
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I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I’d see her again.

James Frey, My Friend Leonard (via larmoyante)

(via strawberryelbows)