Earl Grey Bookshelves

I am no bird and no net ensnares me.

I lean behind you, mouth touching
you spine, my arms around
you, palm above the heart,
you blood insistent under
my hand, quick and mortal

Margaret Atwood, “Book of ancestors,” from Circe/Mud Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

(via dapperdecaf)

“There was another reason. The main one.”
“Reason?” I said stupidly.
“Why I married you.”
“Which was?” I don’t know what I expected him to say, perhaps some further revelation of his family’s contorted affairs. What he did say was more of a shock, in its way.
“Because I wanted you.” He turned from the window to face me. More than I ever wanted anything in my life, he added softly.

(Source: youcallthatakisssweetheart, via fuckyeahjamieandclaire)

And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee’s brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover’s lip: 'Forever.

—Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

George Eliot   (via seulray)

(Source: autumnclock, via charitysh0p)