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The night brings the best surprises.

marklovejoydotcom:

#9696

12:15 pm  1,160 notes

“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”

Henry Miller, Sexus (via colporteur)

(via commovente)

2:55 pm  1,041 notes

nevver:

Arthur Rimbaud

4:41 am  1,412 notes

“Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This day is all that is good and fair. It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on yesterdays.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson (via likeafieldmouse)

4:40 am  1,097 notes

nevver:

Pink volcano

4:40 am  3,627 notes

It’s your flaws I want to taste.
Your brooked mouth.
The way you smell after being
out all day. Your knees, so eager
to bend
to whatever song is playing in
your head.
Your chest, as it rises and falls
and rises and falls
on the carpeted ground. Your
sometimes smooth chin.
Your pimpled politeness. Your
tangled hair.
Your good morning,
every morning.
I don’t want to be able to run
my fingers through you easily.
It is no fun writing about
perfections.

I want to talk about you.
Flawed. Crooked.
Endlessly
interesting.
You.

— Lora Mathis, Black Coffee (via larmoyante)

(via cybergirlfriend)

12:20 pm  7,232 notes


Installation of drawings by David Shrigley at The Gallery Restaurant at Sketch, London. Interior design by India Mahdavi.

12:19 pm  24,259 notes

And I think there’s a point where we stop coming up with excuses to stay where it feels easy or we wilt away, because growth will only come when you let someone in enough to pour their love like rain water down your crystal vase throat, and you might think that you could choke on something so big, but trust me when I tell you that you were perfectly tailored to fit this and going thirsty is just a painful and foolish way to kill yourself.

— Moriah Pearson  (via fuckingcamilla)

(via cybergirlfriend)

12:07 pm  2,603 notes

nevver:

Some days…

12:07 pm  1,403 notes

“When she first saw him was she overwhelmed with desire? The impulse to possess is alive in every heart, and some people choose vast plains, some people choose high mountains, some people choose wide seas, and some people choose husbands; I chose to possess myself. I resembled a tree, a tall tree with long, strong branches; I looked delicate, but any man I held in my arms knew that I was strong; my hair was long and thick and deeply waved naturally, and I wore it braided and pinned up, because when I wore it loose around my shoulders it caused excitement in other people — some of them men, some of them women, some of them it pleased, some of them it did not. The way I walked depended on who I thought would see me and what effect I wanted my walk to have on them. My face was beautiful, I found it so.”

— from Jamaica Kincaid’s The Autobiography of My Mother (via commovente)

11:05 am  355 notes

likeafieldmouse:

Mark Rothko - No. 3/No. 13 (1949)

11:04 am  1,749 notes

“On that road which I came to know so well, I spent some of the sweetest moments of my life. On a long stretch of it in the late afternoon I could see the reflection of the sun’s light on the surface of the seawater, and it always had the quality of an expectation just about to be fulfilled, as if at any moment a small city made out of that special light of the sun on the water would arise, and from it might flow a joy I had not yet imagined. And I knew a place just off the side of this road where the sweetest cashews grew; the juice from their fruit would cause blisters to form on my lips and make my tongue feel as if it were caught in a bundle of twine, temporarily making speech difficult, and I found this, the difficulty of speaking, the possibility that it might be a struggle for me ever to speak again, delicious.”

— from Jamaica Kincaid’s The Autobiography of My Mother  (via commovente)

4:30 pm  172 notes

nevver:

Definition

4:30 pm  1,418 notes

“It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on.”

— Nicholas Sparks (via larmoyante)

1:49 pm  4,421 notes

1:47 pm  11,766 notes

s.t.