I don’t think the world is the way we like to think it is. I don’t think it’s one solid world, but many, thousands upon thousands of them—as many as there are people—because each person perceives the world in his or her own way; each lives in his or her own world. Sometimes they connect, for a moment, or more rarely, for a lifetime, but mostly we are alone, each living in our own world, suffering our small deaths. by Charles de Lint, Small Deaths (via skeletales)

(Source: flentes, via skeletales)