I float now through myself like a howl through a phantom mouth–
Maurya Simon, from ‘Russell Market’, in Poetry (via soracities)

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I float now through myself like a howl through a phantom mouth–
Maurya Simon, from ‘Russell Market’, in Poetry (via soracities)
The Anatomist, 1869 - Gabriel von Max
I’m so mad because this worked
☾GRUNGE BLOG☽
Auguste Rodin, Danaïde, 1885
O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, to come to me; of cureless ills thou art the one physician. Pain lays not its touch upon a corpse.
Aeschylus (via vinterblod)
the fuck is an unisex tattoo are you shitheads?
where the fuck is the connection between what you put on your skin and what you have in your pants WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Frederic Lord Leighton, Summer Slumber, 1894
Art cannot be modern. Art is primordially eternal.
Egon Schiele (via acrylicalchemy)
I made art a philosophy, and philosophy an art: I altered the minds of men, and the colour of things: I awoke the imagination of my century so that it created myth and legend around me: I summed up all things in a phrase, all existence in an epigram: whatever I touched I made beautiful.
Oscar Wilde, De Profundis (via newaindulac)
Found at the cemetery // she is just away //
Ophelia by Paul Albert Steck.
Paul Albert Steck (?–1924) was a French painter of the late 19th century.
Paul Albert Steck was born in Troyes, France, probably in 1866 though the exact date is not known. He began his career studying under Jean-Léon Gérôme. In 1896 he was made a member of the Société des Artistes Français and exhibited works in the fifth Salon de la Rose-Croix. In 1900, he won a bronze medal at the Exposition Universelle. Museums in Dieppe, Montauban, and Rouen display his work.