The wanderer's Den!
this blog is compiled by a compulsive, lost book lover.. i love music too and i dream excessively.. none of the stuff posted here belongs to me. unless otherwise stated.let's talk!
I can’t picture anyone daydreaming about me. I can’t picture someone thinking about me when they’re laying in bed before they fall asleep. I can’t picture anyone telling their friends about me. I can’t picture anyone getting butterflies because I hugged them, or even just because I made eye contact with them. I can’t picture someone smiling because my name lit up their phone. I just can’t.
(Source: honestliars, via areyoumockingmesweetie)
Our story opens where countless other stories have ended in the last twenty-six years: with an idiot- in this case my brother Shaun- deciding it would be a good idea to go out and poke a zombie with a stick to see what happens. As if we didn’t already know what happens when you mess with a zombie: The zombie turns around and bites you, and you become the thing you poked. This isn’t a surprise. It hasn’t been a surprise for more than twenty years, and if you want to get technical, it wasn’t a surprise then.
(via aftertheendtimes)
(via hungry-for-books)
6 days ago - 
8
8
Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.
Henry Rollins (via kari-shma)
(via littlequiescent)
“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
(via petrichorpress)
6 days ago - 56
56 
(Source: januarymidnight, via booksandhotchocolate)
(via dreaming-and-wishing)
6 days ago - 83
83
(Source: tassels, via coffeepearlsandpoetry)
(Source: icanread, via coffeepearlsandpoetry)
(Source: , via booksandhotchocolate)
(via dreaming-and-wishing)
It’s not as if I don’t have anything to read; there’s a tower of perfectly good unread books next to my bed, not to mention the shelves of books in the living room I’ve been meaning to reread. I find myself, maddeningly, hungry for the next one, as yet unknown. I no longer try to analyze this hunger; I capitulated long ago to the book lust that’s afflicted me most of my life.
Lewis Buzbee, The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop (via prettybooks)
