𓃹

₁ ₉ ₉ ₇ 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦

[teddypng]

Patricia Highsmith, Her Diaries and Notebooks: 1941-1995

[femmedummy]

does anyone want to let me come over and be awkward and shy at first but then you let me play you 200 songs I like while I tell you about why I like them and then fall asleep on your couch ?

[fymenhera-deactivated20181216]

[peterfromtexas-deactivated20250]

Bridge from Elizabeth Taylor’s home to Richard Burton’s home, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

[papillonnne2]

Anaïs Nin

[chenthebetrayer]

Visit Original Link

[p-urest]

my goal is to look like one of those little blythe dolls

[lamignonette]

[endless-formsmostbeautiful]

Then I told him that I felt that Norman Bates, if he were a painting, would be painted by Hopper, and he agreed. So we had kind of that discussion, writer and actor, about the character. He had an incredible grasp on Norman Bates and the situation that he was in. I think Tony Perkins must have known what it was like to be trapped. —Joseph Stefano, screenwriter, in The Making of Psycho (1997)

PSYCHO dir. Alfred Hitchcock (1960)

HOUSE BY THE RAILROAD by Edward Hopper (1925)

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[petaltexturedskies]

Why do you fall in love? Nothing could be more complex: because it is winter, because it is summer; from overwork, from too much leisure; from weakness, from strength, from the need for security, from the love of danger, from desperation, from hope. Because someone doesn't love you. Because someone does love you.

Simone de Beauvoir, Quand toutes les femmes du monde

[abigail]

1920s teddy bear compacts and 1970s teddy bear platforms

[catdr3am]

Yoshimoto Nara — KILL YOUR TIMID NOTION .

[abigail]

[abigail]

am i the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?? do you want to open jars for me when i struggle to do it myself????

[abigail]

actually obsessed with my new nails

[derangedrhythms]

Because when I read, I don’t really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liqueur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing brain and heart and coursing on through the veins to the root of each blood vessel.

Bohumil Hrabal, Too Loud a Solitude, tr. Michael Henry Heim