Stronger

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[luthienne]

…the danger of falling into introspection, that monster who will chew too long on one morsel…

Anaïs Nin, from Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939 (via luthienne)

[watchoutforintellect]

I can taste the tin of the sky—the real tin thing. Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves. All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations…

Sylvia Plath, “Walking in Winter” (via oh-girl-among-the-roses)

[wordsnquotes]

Rain on roof outside window, gray light, deep covers and warm blankets. Rain and nip of autumn in air; nostalgia, itch to work better and bigger. That crisp edge of autumn.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via wordsnquotes)

[cecelialisbon]

[acuratedlife]

[wistfullycountry]

Shannon Kirsten

[randomdays-1]

[prominent-nipple]

Alek Wek, Rafal Szewc ph. Thierry Ledé

[maryjopeace]

JUERGEN TELLER | DEVON AOKI | ALESSANDRO DELL’ACQUA AD CAMPAIGN | VOGUE ITALIA | AUGUST 1998 | STRIP-PROJECT | ARCHIVE | FEBRUARY 2016

[vvvestvvood]

Heron Preston & Stella Lucia, photographed by Cameron McCool, Self Service

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“It’s just as important to empty the mind as it is to fill it.”

— Henry Miller, from Dear, Dear Brenda: The Love Letters Of Henry Miller to Brenda Venus

[wordsnquotes]

susurrus

(noun) As one of the most beautiful words in the English language, susurrus is defined as a soft, murmuring sound. It resembles the rustling symphony of the fallen leaves moving across the pavement or the whispers created by the branches of the trees on a windy, autumn day. Uttering susurrus also simulates the acoustics of nature’s effect; this is one of those rare words where its aesthetic, sound and feel coincide beautifully.  (via wordsnquotes)

[luthienne]

That frozen inertia is my worst enemy; I get positively sick with doubt.

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via luthienne)

[misswallflower]

…at last   to reveal ourselves to ourselves, immaculate, bereft, deserving to be found.

Dean Young, “Sleep Cycle” (via misswallflower)

[theliteraryjournals]

And the air was full of Thoughts and Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said. Big Things lurk unsaid inside.

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things  (via theliteraryjournals)

[lifeinpoetry]

The self and somehow the self still blooming like a mouth torqued open in the rain, beloved and returning, beloved and asking again to be filled, asking only to be tended, to be bodied, asking what here will scatter and what again remain?

—  Safiya Sinclair, from “August in the Country of Another,” Cannibal

[bombayed-deactivated20140907]

untitled by GrandBataille on Flickr.