M @healingingrapevines - Tumblr Blog

rudeteens

I just love barking so I really couldn’t give a fuck if this is the right tree or not haha

theowlswalkwithme-blog

mournfulroses

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, from a letter featured in The Life & Letters of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

alienaficionados

““When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.” All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.””

— Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking, 1978 Peace Prize Acceptance Speech (via jillymomcraftypants)

extinctmeat-deactivated20240820

it’s because i’m always under some damn curse

weltenwellen

Indrani Sengupta, from "creation myth"

germanmilfs

mwaaaah ! In these trying times.

lifeinpoetry

I met you and now I am kind to myself in my sleep

and how do you explain that?

— Laura Marris, from “Tell Me Gently,” published in The Shallow Ends

firstfullmoon

this adrienne rich excerpt, always always

flowerytale

Charlotte Brontë, from “Jane Eyre”

iloveroses-deactivated20210116

thewordsyouneverunderstood

“But her grief was silent. She shut the door behind her. When she was alone by herself she clenched her fists together, and began beating the back of a chair with them. She was like a wounded animal. She hated death; she was furious, outraged, indignant with death, as if it were a living creature. She refused to relinquish her friends to death. She would not submit to dark and nothingness. She began to pace up and down, clenching her hands, and making no attempt to stop the quick tears which raced down her cheeks. She sat still at last, but she did not submit. She looked stubborn and strong when she had ceased to cry.”

— Virginia Woolf, from The Voyage Out (via violentwavesofemotion)