We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me that you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?
Franz Kafka (via finallyseeing)
hell is relative
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This is a perfect post to follow the one on hating. Because...- I would guess almost every...
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