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“The Face first grows lank and wrinkled; then the Neck; then the Breast and Arms; the lower Parts continuing to the last as plump as ever: So that covering all above with a Basket, and regarding only what is below the Girdle, it is impossible of two Women to know an old from a young one. And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement.” —
Benjamin Franklin, in a letter to a friend on choosing a mistress (via historical-nonfiction)
Benjamin Franklin, you dog!
Empty hallways provide me that comforting reminder that my life is meaningless; it has no point, it has no value, and thank fucking God it’s hopeless; that comforting reminder that I mean absolutely nothing, that I’m alive alone, I’ll die alone, I was born from nothing and to nothing I will return; that comforting reminder that I don’t exist and that this whole world doesn’t exist, it’s all just my imagination — these things, these people, these events, these happenings, these feelings, these thoughts are all just made up for the sole purpose of my simultaneous pleasure and suffering; that comforting reminder that without me life continues and that I’m not a part of history; that comforting reminder that time doesn’t exist; that comforting reminder that sometime somewhere I’m me but not me; that comforting reminder that sometime somewhere I am dead and nothing but nothing changes. This comforts me; it keeps me sane.
swagalackin, mother fucka.
Do not respond to girlfriend’s text messages during I-just-woke-up-and-am-still-delirious period.
The “Honesty is the best policy” policy is a crock of shit.
Where goodwill exists, let charity prevail.
it’s like that season of friends, when ross and rachel break up, and the best friends aren’t best friends anymore. and i’m sick of it. cause it’s fucking stupid. so fuck it. i’ll bow out. i’m moving forward with my life.