posts with things i’ve made, scanned, photographed or connected: mine
posts with stuff i’ve stolen off the internet: sourced
my mutuals’ hottest takes: real
audio ive posted: sound
personal/me: o
asks: ?s
Game of Thrones Daily

JVL

oozey mess
The Stonewall Inn

blake kathryn
occasionally subtle
Fai_Ryy

PR's Tumblrdome
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

tannertan36
art blog(derogatory)
cherry valley forever
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Not today Justin
tumblr dot com
will byers stan first human second
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
todays bird
$LAYYYTER
ojovivo
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@claer
posts with things i’ve made, scanned, photographed or connected: mine
posts with stuff i’ve stolen off the internet: sourced
my mutuals’ hottest takes: real
audio ive posted: sound
personal/me: o
asks: ?s
when conflicting emotions meet in your heart the larger and more refined consumes the others. that's why love is so special... when confronted with resentment or animosity, it swallows them and remains the sole thing you keep
Rosanna Warren, from So Forth: Poems; "Diamonds"
[Text ID: Gingerly we test our heaviness, feet on the floor / Gingerly we hold our balance on this spinning crust of soil]
Safe conduct pass stating that the holder is under the protection of the Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, Yuan Dynasty, 13th century
from The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Sketch for “Artemis” by William Hamo Thornycroft (1880)
Scheherazade possessed courage, wit, and penetration. She had read much, and had so admirable a memory, that she never forgot any thing she had read.
One Thousand and One Nights
Still life by Logi Berra
Mary Oliver, from “Franz Marc’s Blue Horses”, Blue Horses
“What she had begun to learn was the weight of liberty. Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one. The road goes upward toward the light; but the laden traveler may never reach the end of it.”
— The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula K. Le Guin
She did not return. Perhaps she whirled herself to dizziness and went home, or perhaps she had gone into the downy white forest, beyond the fog—who knows?
– Yevgeny Zamyatin, from “The North,” The Dragon: Fifteen Stories (The University of Chicago Press, 1976)