I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.

— Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea

To lay my eyes on love.
I roamed the universe.
The northern lights.
The stars at night.
I left no galaxy unturned.
Yet love was nowhere to be seen.
Just hollow shells,
unconscious minds,
with defeated hearts.
— They have got us so preoccupied with trivial things that: We don’t think. We don’t love. We don’t give time. We are just ants milling around, mindlessly, from point A to B // @abillionlittlethoughts (via abillionlittlethoughts)

For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.

— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

So I am here — it is a beautiful moonlight night. There is nothing for me to say —My night is so different from your night — I just wish you could see it — It touches something in me that I so like to have touched — something that seems to be all of me —

— Georgia O’Keeffe, from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz written c. June 1929