(Source: tinythechick)
teaching her how to whistle like a boy.
“I missed him. Love, I realized, is something your spine memorized. There was nothing you could do about that.”
—Lorrie Moore, Anagrams
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
