Endstill

I thought it was love that made me greater, but it really made the world smaller. 

[arabellesicardi]

beauty/beauty by rebecca perry 

[fashion-runways]

Georges Hobeika at Couture Fall 2017

[ultrafacts]

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Follow Ultrafacts for more facts

[1017sosa300-blog]

baby elephants are so CUTE

[ultrafacts]

Adding more elephant facts to the compilation!

Sources: [1] [2] [3] [4] 

[lifeinpoetry]

she…              longs to run herself aground in a sad secret death. Is it a god inside you, girl?

Euripides, from Hippolytos, Grief Lessons: Four Plays tr. Anne Carson (via oiseauperdu)

[liminalhorror-deactivated201812]

The problem of pain is that I cannot feel my father’s, and he cannot feel mine. This, I suppose, is also the essential mercy of pain.

Eula Biss, The Pain Scale (via writingletterstoshakespeare)

[diamond-heiress-deactivated2018]

So Apparently Male Authors Have Been Making Their Wives Do All The Typing

Come on, fellas. Let's get it together.

It’s incredible how much women do behind the scenes. I know a realtor who relies strongly on his girlfriend’s charisma, beauty and personality to gain clients.

[sespursongles-deactivated201906]

“But in numerous examples these gently thanked wives even did their husbands’ primary research for them: transcribing early modern paleography and field notes, typing up numerous drafts, rewriting, revising, indexing… the list goes on.” “This author quit his job to write his dissertation, while his wife did much of the work, cared for their first child, and taught chemistry!” “Not just wives, either. Sometimes anonymous daughters were involved, too.”

[kittiesatemypronouns]

This guy just noticed this? I’ve been reading it in authors’ acknowledgements for decades. It’s so obvious that, wherever you have a published male, married, author, his wife was in the background working as his unpaid secretary and editor, in addition to making his comfy life possible. And she gets his tepid (or, sometimes, insultingly overblown) thanks as compensation.

[heartmagician]

I tell you I am happy, and you tell me you are happy, and I am told I’m supposed to hate you, since hate is the body that stays when love leaves, but by now that skin has a new name, and if the story of us begins in summer, then I’m the one who left. I’m the one who buried everything that had a face.

Hieu Minh Nguyen, Dear Friend (for JD), from the book This Way to the Sugar (via pacificaly)

[meanwhilepoetry]

Did you really think she was a tender flower you could trample upon, and damage her very soul? She is wildfire. And she is coming to devour you whole.

Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)

[inkskinned]

a secret code between women: are you safe? in a contact of eyes. i’m here if you need me, the littlest shift of a skirt, of an inclined head, of watching the man who is asking you to smile, bitch. you aren’t alone on the walls of restrooms, i was where you are too. the quiet doling of emergency numbers, the shelters. the space between two women in a largely empty train station. the waiting game of two women strangers who walk, quietly and quickly, to their cars in abandoned parking lots, who watch to be sure the other leaves safely. text me you get home safe. the tally marks of drinks on hidden wrists, carefully disguised as other things ever since men picked up on what it meant and used it to target the “weakest link.” 

my father tells me we have nothing to worry about. last night he sent me one of those email chains that say at the top “Safety Tips For The Women In Your Life!!!! Don’t Let Her Die!!” 

me, and the stranger on the train. she is asleep and the man is asking me who i am going home to. i feel tears pricking the sides of my eyes. i am 13 while he towers over me. he reaches out one hand, and while i don’t know how she knows, she speaks up without opening her eyes: “If you touch my daughter, sir, I will murder you.” Whatever he grumbles is lost in history, because this moment I am so grateful for the existence of other people that I cannot breathe.

I am 19 and on my phone when i become aware of a 13 year old girl is smiling nervously at a man who’s saying disgusting things. I grab her arm. “There you are, cindy,” I say, and then look at the man like he is bile. “Do you need something from my sister?” i ask, and i walk away with her. she cries later.

this is the way of things: a silent, secret web. our promise to each other that despite our differences, when it comes to the wire, we become family, instantly. the unspoken promise. i’m here. i’m watching. i’ll witness.

[smfih]

[costumersupportdept]

i freaking love penn jillette. 

[thorffour-deactivated20190920]

why did “people deserve to live” become a controversial thought?

[thequotejournals]

Some people will never fit into your life, no matter how much you want them to.

Anonymous (via wordsnquotes)

[ekphora-deactivated20190614]

The hardest thing in the world is simplicity. And the most fearful thing, too. You have to strip yourself of all your disguises, some of which you didn’t know you had. You want to write a sentence as clean as a bone. That is the goal.

– James Baldwin

[niktipolos]

INTERVIEWER What benefits have knowledge and culture afforded you in your lifetime? ECO An illiterate person who dies, let us say at my age, has lived one life, whereas I have lived the lives of Napoleon, Caesar, d’Artagnan. So I always encourage young people to read books, because it’s an ideal way to develop a great memory and a ravenous multiple personality. And then at the end of your life you have lived countless lives, which is a fabulous privilege.

Umberto Eco, The Art of Fiction No. 197 (via kuanios)

[msmarvel]

#same

[butteryplanet]

[ecrituria]

The mystic Simone Weil wrote to a friend on another continent, ‘Let us love this distance, which is thoroughly woven with friendship, since those who do not love each other are not separated.’ For Weil, love is the atmosphere that fills and colors the distance between herself and her friend. Even when that friend arrives on the doorstep, something remains impossibly remote: when you step forward to embrace them your arms are wrapped around mystery, around the unknowable, around that which cannot be possessed.

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost (via kuanios)