junk bond trader

Jess, Melbourne, Australia. A collection of inspirations, interests, influences and ideas. var gaJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://ssl." : "http://www."); document.write(unescape("%3Cscript src='" + gaJsHost + "google-analytics.com/ga.js' type='text/javascript'%3E%3C/script%3E")); try { var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker("UA-10520738-2"); pageTracker._trackPageview(); } catch(err) {}

[svdownwards-blog]

[dollymyfolly-deactivated2026032]

And I have still other smothered memories, now unfolding themselves into limbless monsters of pain.

Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via dollymyfolly)

[substitutescene]

[awesomepeoplereading]

John Waters reads.

[seabois]

“I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me.”

Hermann Hesse (via seabois)

[notcaulfieldsanymore]

✄ ten day sherlock challenge

day one: favourite male character (sherlock holmes and john watson)

[classicactresses-blog]

[sylviathunders]

[breatheh20]

[junkbondtrader]

breatheh20:

“H-Here’s a question for you…What do you call a person without character, without integrity, without loyalty, without respect? I call that person a fucking waste of my time!”  - Joe

[mentalasphyxia]

[henrycharlesbukowski]

you must refuse to join them. you must remain yourself. you must open the curtains or the blinds or the windows to the gentle light. to joy.

Charles Bukowski - a vote for the gentle light. (via fuckyeahexistentialism)

[noracharles-deactivated20120419]

[beauvoiriana-deactivated2020041]

[awesomepeoplereading]

Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre read.

internatural:

beauvoiriana:

Simone de Beauvoir and Sartre in a plane to Brazil, 1960. (Hazel Rowley Archives)

[bornareddirtgirl-deactivated201]

Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground.

Francesca Lia Block (via lomaaaa)

[prettybooks]

(by aquakaleidoscope)

[human-voices]

You have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvelous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid.

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (via human-voices)

[proustitute]

Why does one feel so different at night? Why is it so exciting to be awake when everybody else is asleep? Late—it is very late! And yet every moment you feel more and more wakeful, as though you were slowly, almost with every breath, waking up into a new, wonderful, far more thrilling and exciting world than the daylight one. And what is this queer sensation that you’re a conspirator? Lightly, stealthily you move about your room. You take something off the dressing-table and put it down again without a sound. And everything, even the bed-post, knows you, responds, shares your secret…

Katherine Mansfield, “At the Bay,” in The Garden Party, 1922 (via proustitute)