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girl. 22. wildflowers. dc.
But I’ll tell you what hermits realize. If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.

Alan Watts (via mentalalchemy)

strvpped:

the-monster-that-walks:

"If I cant love you as a lover, I will love you as a friend." -La Dispute

fuck

It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.

Rachel CohnNaomi and Ely’s No Kiss List (via feellng)


David Fullarton

fiskarna:

untitled by MapleStars on Flickr.

When you think of love do you think of pain?

— Vance Joy (Mess is Mine)

He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.

— Mary Oliver, excerpt from “White Heron Rises Over Blackwater” (via larmoyante)

"We need to recognize that for some people sex is great and for some sex is horrific and for some it’s on par with folding laundry."

deviantfemme:

dotterall:

(~Sex Isn’t Always Good by queenieofaces)

This is a critical part of sex positivity that tends to be overlooked. Let’s celebrate empowering amazing sex and the choice to not have sex, or only have certain kinds of sex. 

surgicalfreak:

blanche—noire:

blanche—noire

raboartcollection:

The title of the work is identical to a series of photographs by Huseyin shot in Odessa, showing curtains blowing in the wind. These images inspired an installation of hardened lace curtains, frozen in time and space. The work refers to the gesture of opening the windows to set free the soul of the deceased, as well as the idea of a spirit present in a room, mysteriously lifting the curtains to reveal its presence.

Gabriel Lester,Melancholia in Arcadia (2011)

All rights are reserved. Photography by Peter Cox. 
Rabo Art Collection

Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…

natgeofound:

Girls watch artist painting picture of statue of Flemish artist in Bruges, Belgium, May 1955.
Photograph by Luis Marden, National Geographic

I sometimes hold that a poem…is a person, a living human being, belonging in bodily presence and real fleshly existence to another world, into which our imagination throws him, his aspect to us, as we read him in this world being no more than the imperfect shadow of that reality of beauty that is divine elsewhere.

— Fernando Pessoa + (via mythologyofblue)

lehroi:

Diamonds, 2013.

Beata Chrzanowska