scottlava:

“Pai Mei taught you the five point palm-exploding heart technique?”

scottlava:

Pai Mei taught you the five point palm-exploding heart technique?”


Beyond a certain point there is no return. That is the point that must be reached.

Franz Kafka.

(Citado em Zona, de Geoffrey Dyer; fonte original incerta)


It occurs to me that I really can’t remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress, that I still see.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena (via impune)

¿Por qué soy un ser humano, con todos los tormentos esta condición extremadamente vaga y horriblemente responsable conlleva? ¿Por qué no soy yo, por ejemplo, el vestuario de la familia feliz en su habitación, lo que le tiene a la vista cada vez que usted está sentado en su silla o en su escritorio, o cuando se está acostado o durmiendo? ¿Por qué no soy yo para que?
 Franz Kafka,  Cartas a Milena (vía kafkaesque mundo )

I can love only what I can place so high above me that I cannot reach it.
Franz Kafka, from a letter to Max Brod  (via kafkaesque-world)

notsofasttimes:

When I explain my generation to elders.

notsofasttimes:

When I explain my generation to elders.



Another thing that proves how bad men are at sex is that after sex, you’re looking at two very different people. The man just wants to lay there, be cool, and the woman wants to cuddle. Something that men love to make fun of women for. ’They always wanna cuddle! I already fucked you, just let me watch the game. Shut up and leave me alone. Why is she so NEEDY?’ She’s not needy, you idiot, she’s horny, because you did NOTHING for her. You did absolutely nothing. HER PUSSY IS ON FIRE BECAUSE IT’S GONE UNFUCKED COMPLETELY. Of course you’re fine, you climbed on and went “KFHGSKG” and rolled off. And she’s on you because she’s like ‘WH-at SOMETHING ELSE HAS TO HAPPEN, THIS IS BULLSHIT!!” If you fuck a woman well, she will LEAVE YOU ALONE. ‘Thanks a lot buddy, zzzzz’
Louis CK (via invisibella)

Así se reanudó una amistad prohibida que por lo menos una vez se pareció al amor.
Gabriel García Márquez, Del amor y otros demonios. (via airislegustanlasletras)