ᴴᴱᴿ ᶠᴿᴬᴳᴹᴱᴺᵀᴱᴰ ˢᴱᴸᶠ

when the world burned, you knew, didn't you ? you do not say: i knew, but i was selfish ... i am a GOD —— it is my nature. ORIGINAL CHARACTERS penned by charlee.

[romelzacarnes]

[valyrianpoem]

list of costumes

character: Sophia (Zoe) Palaiologina; series: Sophia, 2016; appearance: episode 4; period: XV century (Russia).

[thebluesthour]

From the unseen eye of sin I have trickled: A night full of desire,  The warm body of the horizon, naked. White veins, running through the green marble of the grass, whispering. Moonlight, descending the indigo coloured stairway of the East. Fairies, dancing, Blue dresses at one with the colour of the horizon. And I, drunk with the whisperings of the night. The window of dreams was wide open And she, like a breeze, blew in.

Sohrab Sepehri, from “The Wet Lantern” (via thebluesthour)

[valyrianpoem]

[filmchrist]

[luthienne]

But I have looked too long into human eyes. / Reduce me now to ashes—Night, like a black sun.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from Selected Poems; “Insomnia” (via luthienne)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

HARRY: It was only a moment, it was only one moment / That I stood in sunlight, and thought I might stay there.

T.S. Eliot, from The Complete Poems & Plays; “The Family Reunion,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[cedricsdiggory]

[whisperthatruns]

That is the purpose of stories, that no matter where we walk in the world, we walk twice: once in the warm sunshine, and once in the silvery light of every tale we have ever heard, seeing each thing as it is, and also as it was.

Catherynne M. Valente, from The Habitation of the Blessed (Night Shade Books, 2010)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

It gets misty, the birds sound loud, it smells of irises and then it thunders. I love such summer storms.

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry written c. July 1921 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[eireneofathens]

[eviestvincent]

[videogametracks]

Visit Original Link

[vavaharrison]

[ginasporter]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

         If you stand

there long enough the air will thicken     with dusk and dust and exhaust          and finally with

a starless dark. The day will become something     it’s never been before, something for          which I have no name.

Philip Levine, closing lines to “How to Get There,” Poetry (February 2012)

[neaarty]