I danced frightening things. They were frightened of me and therefore thought that I wanted to kill them. I did not want to kill anyone. I loved everyone, but no one loved me, and therefore I became nervous.
— Vaslav Nijinsky, The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky (via disease)
Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that’s when you get shooting stars.
— Vladimir Nabokov (via weaverofstars)
(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via gorimbaud)