Bride’s heart, made in the Netherlands, 1625-74 (source).

No title available
Stranger Things

Andulka
Peter Solarz
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Not today Justin
h

Kaledo Art

JBB: An Artblog!
No title available
trying on a metaphor
No title available

Origami Around
Cosmic Funnies

pixel skylines

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

JVL

izzy's playlists!

Love Begins
Keni

seen from Italy

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Pakistan

seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Ecuador
@rosesouls
Bride’s heart, made in the Netherlands, 1625-74 (source).
― Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath
[text ID: What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.]
beautiful rings 💍🦋
Cupid and Psyche.
“My God, does love ever die? I ask, and will die asking.”
— Anaïs Nin, from Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939 (via luthienne)
A comforting thought
Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians called the night ngi, the stars mul, and the moon Nanna.
Four thousand years ago, the Akkadians called the night mūšu, the stars kakkabū, and the moon Sîn.
Three thousand years ago, the Hittites called the night išpanza, the stars haštereš, and the moon Arma.
Two and a half thousand years ago, the Greeks called the night nux, the stars astra, and the moon Selênê.
Two thousand years ago, the Romans called the night nox, the stars stellae, and the moon Luna.
Kings and queens and heroes looked up at them. So did travelers coming home, and little children who sneaked out of bed. So did slaves, and mothers and soldiers and old shepherds, and Sappho and Muršili and Enheduanna and Socrates and Hatshepsut and Cyrus and Cicero. In this darkness it didn’t matter who they were, or where they stood. Only that they were human.
Think of that tonight, when you close your window. You are not alone. You share this night sky with centuries of dreamers and stargazers, and people who longed for quiet. Are you anxious? The Hittites were too: they called it pittuliyaš. Does your heart ache? The Greeks felt it too: they called it akhos. Those who look up to the stars for comfort are a family, and you belong to them. Your ancestors have stood under Nanna, Sîn, Arma, Selênê and Luna for five thousand years. Now its light is yours.
May it soothe you well.
𝙾𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚝𝚢𝚜 (𝟷𝟾𝟾𝟷)
Sea Shell Carving
source:
HANS ZATZKA - Kuğu Gölü'nde (detail)
𝙳𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚞 𝙼𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝚁𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚊 [𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟿𝟹𝟾]
Sea of Gold | by llemerci
Heartbroken
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
Stay.