I'm Laala and I'm 24 years old. This is mostly a book blog, but I also occasionally document my life.
My other tumblrs: Discourse on Life | A Burst of Colour | One Door to Another.
My goodreads profile | Flickr | last.fm | YouTube | Instagram.
You can reach me at distantheartbeats@gmail.com.
[2009: Books | Movies | Concerts | Theatre] [2010: Books | Movies | Concerts | Theatre]
[2011: Books | Movies | Concerts | Theatre] [2012: Books | Movies | Concerts & Theatre]
~ Wednesday, September 17 ~
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Most of my books are actually at my dad’s, because I don’t have space for them here and we built a beautiful bookcase for them there. But I have a couple of hundred here with me and I spent most of yesterday reorganising, dusting the shelves, figuring out my life. Somehow rearranging my books also rearranges my thoughts. It’s a handy little trick. 

Most of my books are actually at my dad’s, because I don’t have space for them here and we built a beautiful bookcase for them there. But I have a couple of hundred here with me and I spent most of yesterday reorganising, dusting the shelves, figuring out my life. Somehow rearranging my books also rearranges my thoughts. It’s a handy little trick. 

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He wondered if it was a lack of courage, or of imagination, that prevented him from believing in it.
— Jhumpa Lahiri, The Lowland
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~ Tuesday, September 16 ~
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He knew that the door would close just as arbitrarily as it had opened. He knew that he could be sent back to where he’d come form, and that there would be plenty to take his place.
— Jhumpa Lahiri, The Lowland
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Sex Without Love by Sharon Olds

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Formal as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, heat
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? I guess they are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of God. They do not
mistake the partner for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their overall cardio-
vascular health — just factors, like the other
in the bed, and not their truth, which is
the single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

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~ Monday, September 15 ~
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So… I may have picked up some books while I was in London. Waterstones Piccadilly is my kryptonite. 

So… I may have picked up some books while I was in London. Waterstones Piccadilly is my kryptonite. 

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You refused me so very gently.
Laala Kashef Alghata, Six Word Stories #12
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~ Sunday, September 14 ~
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36,459 plays

distantheartbeats:

Song of the Day:
Caledonia (live) by Paolo Nutini

Let me tell you that I love you
that I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you’re calling me
now I’m going home
and if I shall become a stranger
you know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had

It’s strange not to be in Scotland during the referendum. I don’t think it’s my place to say whether I’m for or against, but I lived in Scotland for four years and I love that country so much. The people, the kindness, the beauty, the dancing, the joy. It’s a wonderful, wonderful place and I am always happy to go back when I can. I can’t wait for September 18 and the vote. It all feels so surreal. 

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reblogged via distantheartbeats
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She understood silence the way he understood darkness — running from neither as the sun set and the words ran out.
— Marina Keegan, Reading Aloud in The Opposite of Loneliness
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