Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wished that, taking wing like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far away to regions of purity, and there grow young again. Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary  (via childoflust)

(Source: writingwillows, via rampias)

iminpain:

nobody knows me
methpool:

qd
btw-vodka:

depressive and erotic art