BodyByBriscoe DieThenQuit!

The path paved to success is filled with more steps taken after the pain of failure.

[jca-archive]

Darryl Zudeck, from Illustrators 26 (1985)

[thoughtkick]

“I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself did I know who I really was.”

— Sade Andria Zabala

[bodybybriscoe]

Happy Turkey day

[thehopefulquotes]

“The best way to not feel hopeless is to get up and do something. Don’t wait for good things to happen to you. If you go out and make some good things happen, you will fill the world with hope, you will fill yourself with hope.”

— Barack Obama

[misssclumsy]

Set a goal that makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning

(Mujhe kya mein to soungi maje se 😌👉👈)

[the-inspiring-quotes]

[drapedinink]

[quotespile]

“She was always threatening rain; he had been born with an umbrella in his hand.”

— Michael Chabon, Moonglow

[nobrashfestivity]

Matsubara Naoko Solitude, Decaying Beauty, Wind, Spring Visitor, Thoreau, Drop of Life, from the portfolio Solitude, 1971. 

Color woodcut prints on hōsho pure kōzo paper. Gift of Marge Riley, 88.22.1,2,7,9,10,11 © 1971 Matsubara Naoko

[dumblr]

May our favorite people never turn into strangers.

[9710144]

@thereignclub-trc

[themourningroutine-deactivated2]

Reblog if you have made a friend online that you would love to hang with, but they live far away.

[bechloe-beatchell]

*REBLOGS FURIOUSLY*

[9710144]

[illmaticbaddie]

[dirty]

Buy her flowers and eat her pussy

[mentalquotes]

[poetry-siir]

When you change, don’t announce it. Just bloom.

[ritikajyala]

My father made me coffee every morning and put anger instead of sugar.

He had been a man of few words- never said he loved me and even his happiness was full of rage. Every night, he'd watch some game on the telly and talk about the stock market and bonds and things I never understood. I remember when the newspaper began to publish my articles, he barely read them and gave me a nod as if to show his acknowledgement. One day, I looked into his drawer to find some batteries and noticed a stack of newspaper cuttings, articles and poems and photographs, all of my work- the borders cut with such tenderness and care, I couldn't believe his hands could be so gentle.

My father carved me from his thigh and watered me with his blood and wondered where my rage came from. My father loved me in silence and wondered why I couldn't listen.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire