May 2013
brideofquietness:
“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”
-The Cocktail Party, T.S. Eliot
...
“The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that...”
– The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1920. (via debourbon)
fool to cry
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