There is always something left to love. Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (via teenager90s)

23 hours ago // 908 notes
We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them. Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides (via feellng)

23 hours ago // 1,707 notes