Valentina. Smitten with words.
You just don’t know writers. They’ll use anything, anybody. They’ll eat their young.
—Dennis Potter (via elucipher)

(Source: writingquotes, via elucipher)

artdetails:

Jusepe de Ribera, Martyrdom of St. Andrew (detail), 1628

(via jaded-mandarin)

You have access in my bone and existential structure. […] Which means you are inside of me in a way no one is or shall ever be. Don’t ask me how I know that. My senses belong passionately to you; you are in me as the relaxing shower drops touch gently my skin; you are in me as the sea waves echo when they crush the beach rocks. You are in me when I lie - as I do now- in bed, paralyzed by the sluggish, dull rhythm of life. You are the air in me delightfully nourishing my small brain, so crammed with unusual perplexities.You are in me like a stillborn pain refusing to be washed off. You are in me like the sun’s spots of quivering light merged with whirling blood and flesh. You are in me in these supposed to be “poetical” corny lines. And I know it will never be enough. I live with knowing that in a way which is not profound anymore; In a cruel, real, remorseless way of no return. How pathetic - I live with solely that.
Frida Kahlo, from a diary entry titled, “You are me” dated 1940 (via c-ovet)

(Source: requiemforthepast, via lifeinpoetry)

thedailydoodles:

"Nothing is Forever"

Tired of fighting with mom, and knowing that dad doesn’t really care
Ann had to be somewhere else, and it didn’t matter where.
So she runs away from home, going to the park right down the street,
She decides she just live here forever, and her life will be complete.

As the evening falls, blanketing Ann with the starlit night,
She looks up into the heavens, enjoying the galactic sight.
All those different worlds, it’s hard to fathom that it ever ends
The stars will always be there, unlike her family and friends.

But as Ann sees a shooting star quickly fade away and die,
She realizes nothing is forever, not even the stars in the sky.
Some of the twinkling lights above, are already dead and gone
Their worlds faded away to nothing, never waking to another dawn.

And one day in the future, the Andromeda Galaxy will swallow us whole
Even though it’s not for a while, Ann knows it’s out of our control.
Everything is temporary, even all of her problems and her fears,
Obsessing over the day to day almost seems like a waste of tears.

Even if the ‘now’ feels like forever, nothing will ever last
And everything that’s wrong today will tomorrow be in the past.

Ann breathes in the cool air, soothed by the night so vast and deep.
And when the sun finally rises, she sneaks back home to go to sleep.

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(Source: mementomoriiv, via stillmeaningless)

Perhaps we’re not magic anymore. Perhaps we’re just comfortable. We just know our way around one another. We know which wounds to cauterize and which to let bleed.
—Donna-Marie Riley (via five—a—day)

(Source: hadeiadel, via guy)

(via abouterleichda)

You think you know. And then, no. You don’t.
Marguerite Duras, from Hiroshima, Mon Amour (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

sunlight720pmearlyseptember:

12.4.13

Marissa Paternoster of Screaming Females at Strange Matter in Richmond, VA.

(via hanniballecters)

I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.
—J. D. Salinger (via hefuckin)

(Source: uoa, via abouterleichda)

(Source: somedevil, via queen-tuff)

rosesinaglass:

WWII Bunkers by dataichi on Flickr.

(via hayhasyou)

malformalady:

Yili Apricot Valley, China. Every year, these rolling hills in Xinjiang explode into a puffy sea of pink and white. As the largest groves of apricots in the region, this flowering signifies the beginning of the fruiting season, while also transforming the landscape into something other-worldly.

(via sailingaugust)

It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you.
—The Flies (Jean Paul Sartre)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via wordsthat-speak)