Lately, though, in ways she couldn’t properly explain, things had begun to change. She woke at night sometimes with an inexplicable tugging in her soul; a desire, like hunger, but for what she couldn’t say. Dissatisfaction, longing, a deep and yawning absence, but no idea of how to fill it. No idea of what it was she missed.
Kate Morton, The Distant Hours (via anditslove)
I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane.
George Orwell, 1984 (via temporary-highs)