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[inderjitsanghera]

The noon’s greygolden meshes make All night a veil, The shorelamps in the sleeping lake Laburnum tendrils trail. The sly reeds whisper to the night A name– her name- And all my soul is a delight, A swoon of shame.

James Joyce, Alone (via inderjitsanghera)

[lsleofskye]

Jellyfish Rise

[teapalm]

(Tasha Marie) | Oregon website | instagram | facebook

[drakontomalloi]

Kawanabe Kyosai - Repelling the Mongol Pirate Ships. 1863

[addelburgh]

[teavibes]

Me tho

[puzzlecrumb]

Foxes Being Trained in Disguise by Utagawa Kuniyoshi, c. 1840s, woodblock print, housed in the Honolulu Museum of Art

[maeganramirez]

A favourite memory from 2015. On this day, I dropped off Buckarooken on the ski hill & I pulled into Lake Louise early in the morning. The snow had fallen heavy all night & I was the first to arrive. So much snow, there was only a small lane to park my ca by The 10 cent designer on Flickr.

[overthe-sun]

After School - Let’s Step Up

[puzzlecrumb]

This is too good.

[fehyesvintagemanga]

Yamagishi Ryoko

my scans

[tulipnight]

Fifth Water Hot Springs by David Swindler

[neil-gaiman]

Yesterday a friend of mine who read one of your older novels and had no idea how old you were asked me if you were still alive. It wasn't a silly question but I started to panic a little because death is a inevitable thing, and as you well know, all great things must come to an end, and yes, one day you will eventually die, like many great authors I deeply appreciate. I'm not scared of dying, not even a little bit, but how can I overcome this awful dread of seeing my favorite authors dying?

You try to remember that as long as you can pick up our books, we can still speak to you directly. Still make you smile, still make you care, still make you cry.

It’s the best sort of immortality there is.

[brenthofacker]

Ginger Cookies

Nom Nom Photography

[expressions-of-nature]

by anastasiaf

Norway

[naganohara-archive]

[puzzlecrumb]

Les sanglots longs Des violons        De l'automne Blessent mon cœur D'une langueur        Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand        Sonne l'heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens        Et je pleure; Et je m'en vais Au vent mauvais        Qui m'emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la        Feuille morte.

Paul Verlaine, Chanson d’automne

[puzzlecrumb]

bouleversement

[alpska]

Visit Original Link

Ludovico Einaudi - Indaco