For some moments she paced the room in silent anguish; then kneeling down and calling upon those powers, whose very existence she had so often doubted: “Curse him! curse him!” she exclaimed. “O may the curse of a bitter and deeply injured heart, blast every promise of his happiness; pursue him through life; and follow him to the grave!—May he live to be the scorn of his enemies, the derision of the world, without one friend to soften his afflictions!—May those, whom he has cherished, forsake him in the hour of need; and the companion he has chosen, prove a serpent to betray him!—May the tear of agony, which his falsehood has drawn from these eyes, fall with tenfold bitterness from his own!—And may this blooming innocent, this rival, who has supplanted me in his affections, live to feel the pangs she has inflicted on my soul; or perish in the pride of her youth, with a heart as injured, as lacerated as mine!—Oh, if there are curses yet unnamed, prepared by an angry God, against offending man, may they fall upon the head of this false, this cold-hearted Dartford!”
— Caroline Lamb, Glenarvon (via talesofpassingtime)

awritersruminations:

There is no more I can lose. We have
     reached the end of ending.
And so I simply stroke, and
     stroke. And stroke your face.

—Marina Tsvetaeva, from “Poem of the End” (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

Depression’s inadequate. A full scale emotional collapse is the minimum required to justify letting everyone down.
From Crave by Sarah Kane (via hush-syrup)
I’m so odd, and I’m so limited, and I’m so different from the ordinary human being—so you say. I have a strong suspicion that I’m the simplest of you all, and that its my extreme transparency that baffles you. I dont think I ever feel anything but the most ordinary emotions.
— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Ethel Smyth (via violentwavesofemotion)