Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.

Anne Lamott   (via modernhepburn)

Seven Deadly Sins:

Wealth without work
Pleasure without conscience
Science without humanity
Knowledge without character
Politics without principle
Commerce without morality
Worship without sacrifice.

Mahatma Gandhi (via observando)

Loneliness is a special kind of illness. It can be loud or soft. There are no right or wrong symptoms and finding a cure is easier said than done, but when one is found, I think it surprises us. Like, how quickly we can mend our wounds or how long it takes to find the places that hurt the most.

Nicole Anderson, 12:36 a.m. (via larmoyante)