níl a fhios agam

[mabellonghetti]

Parker Posey photographed by Bettina Rheims in Los Angeles, 1994

[midnight-charm]

Adesuwa Aighewi photographed by Sacha Maric for WSJ. Magazine April 2017

Stylist: Alexander Fisher Hair: Adam Markarian Makeup: Allie Smith

[daughterofchaos]

Cimitero monumentale di Staglieno in Genoa, Italy

[spells-of-life]

[amandum]

[okkulten-deactivated20240117]

Lichfield Cathedral by hallowedlibrary

[soyouthinkyoucansee]

Alanson Fisher (1807-1884 American)

Harriet Beecher Stowe 1853 - Detail

[midnight-charm]

Duckie Thot for Sephora

[misswallflower]

The Past

“I have supposed my past is part of myself. As my shadow appears whenever I’m in the sun the past cannot be thrown off and its weight must be borne, or I will become another man.

But I saw someone wall his past into a garden whose produce is always in fashion. If you enter his property without permission he will welcome you with a watchdog or a gun.

I saw someone set up his past as a harbor. Wherever it sails, his boat is safe— If a storm comes, he can always head for home. His voyage is the adventure of a kite.

I saw someone drop his past like trash. He buried it and shed it altogether. He has shown me that without the past one can also move ahead and get somewhere.

Like a shroud my past surrounds me but I will cut it and stitch it, to make good shoes with it, shoes that fit my feet.”

- Ha Jin

[nitlott]

The Seventh Seal (1958)

[visualobscurity]

Self-Portrait with Mask, New York, 1958.  Erwin Blumenfeld. 

[quotemadness]

I knew what I wanted to run to. But it didn’t exist, so I didn’t leave.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 

yoooo

(via brutalite)

[moelleux]

its too fucking hot

[sprousetwinsblog]

Get you a man who can do both

By @alexhainerphoto

[shrbrrpxr]

Laura Makabresku

[v--estige]

X

[darkandlong]

[birdandbriar]

“She loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights.”

Charlotte Brontë (via flower-film)