Install this theme
Maybe when we die, the first thing we’ll say is, ‘I know this feeling. I was here before.’
Don DeLillo, White Noise  (via pink-lips-red)
I am a very private person, yet I am an open book.
If you don’t ask… I won’t tell.
I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
John Keats (via rustbeltblues)
animus-inviolabilis:

La femme à la pèlerine(Woman in a Cape)Albert Besnard1889

animus-inviolabilis:

La femme à la pèlerine
(Woman in a Cape)

Albert Besnard

1889

The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman’s love with no intention of loving her.

Bob Marley (via psych-facts)

yo listen to bob marley

(via vinculum-mastery)

justacoffeeshop:

doctor, I can’t stop singing what’s new pussycat

sounds like you have tom jones disease

is it rare?

it’s not unusual

wetdryvac:

Sometimes the humidity tries to kill me. Sometimes it tries to include the paintings with it. 24 hours to get these to dry, and some of the rest haven’t yet, as I discovered the first time I attempted to remove one from the scanner deck.

Looked dry.
Felt dry.
Adhered to the scanner deck like glue.

So, after some very polite swearing and a few days of waiting, two sets follow. We’ll not go into the full list of things that turn out not to clean tacky paint of a scanner deck, but the final fix was simply hot water, which finally removed both the paint and the film from the soap of a thousand armpits.

Prints are available as well: http://wetdryvac.deviantart.com/prints/

likeafieldmouse:

Jeremy Everett - No Exit (2014)

I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.
Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek (via feellng)

I’ve only let myself break down with my dad, nobody else

Clover

aprespompeii:

I have freckles like clover
that bloom in patches
across my face in spring
and they are wild.
I see them, their roots,
they’ve got a hold of my father
and stretch over the flesh
of his back—pointillism
spackling sinewy skin—
and I see them in his mother,
not just in her face,
but in the home she makes,
opalescent color dotting
beauty condensed and 
bursting with light
and with fire— 
with life.

I wrote this for you and I don’t think we ever understood each other better than when you read it. I love you so much and I’ll miss you. There wouldn’t have ever been enough time.

I got bad news

and I need to collapse

but i need to be strong

with no one for whom to be strong