“Enquanto ele lia, me apaixonei do mesmo jeito que alguém cai no sono: gradativamente e de repente, de uma hora para outra.”—
A culpa é das estrelas (via adorolivros)
(I am just reblogging this to thank Brazilian nerdfighters. TFIOS, or A culpa e das estralas, is more popular in Brazil than anywhere in the world other than the U.S. I was blessed to have an excellent translator and publisher there, but a book lives—or doesn’t—through its readers. Thank you. I don’t know how else to say thank you except by saying: I will support Brazil in the World Cup.)
you’re welcome. but no, really, i made some people read it and i’m surprised to know it’s this popular, where the fuck are these people
I want to hang out with these three 24/7
I feel as if I’m always on the verge of waking up.
The Book of Disquiet (via paleyontology)
Many films diminish us. They cheapen us, masturbate our senses, hammer us with shabby thrills, diminish the value of life. Some few films evoke the wonderment of life’s experience, and those I consider a form of prayer. Not prayer “to” anyone or anything, but prayer “about” everyone and everything. I believe prayer that makes requests is pointless. What will be, will be. But I value the kind of prayer when you stand at the edge of the sea, or beneath a tree, or smell a flower, or love someone, or do a good thing. Those prayers validate existence and snatch it away from meaningless routine.
Roger Ebert (via parabola-magazine)
(via itchyanorak)
