Model Margy Cato in a test shoot by Lillian Bassman, 1950s.
Don’t lies eventually lead to the truth? And don’t all my stories, true or false, tend toward the same conclusion? Don’t they all have the same meaning? So what does it matter whether they are true or false if, in both cases, they are significant of what I have been and what I am? Sometimes it is easier to see clearly into the liar than into the man who tells the truth. Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object.
“
| — | Albert Camus, The Fall (via cartographe) |
…. in the office
… When I leaned over to kiss him, my lips brushing against his, our tongues touching then retreating then touching again, my hand gently rubbing his hardness under his casual Friday jeans, i felt his large dry hands travel up the back of my thigh and under my casual Friday jean cutoffs… stopping right as his fingertips reached the soft crease of my ass
You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.
“
| — | Dear Sugar |
