be brave

24, Canadian

[dappledwithshadow]

Letter with sketch, from Henri Matisse to his wife Mélo, 1912.

[hustleformuscle-deactivated2026]

I live in a panicked state that sits somewhere between “don’t be so hard on yourself” and “success is my only option”.

[thegoodvybe]

[eirener-deactivated20180925]

I like art, and by art I mean music, poetry, sex, paintings, the human body, literature… All of this is art to me.

Hunter Reveu

[calm-thought]

You are not out of step. You are not falling behind. You are taking the time that you need and there is no deadline for personal development. People who have reached certain “milestones” before you are not “better” than you; they are on their journeys, you are on yours.

[oeut]

“You felt no reality. Only a weariness, a longing for a shoulder to sleep on, a pair of arms to curl up in — and a lack of that now.”

— Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via watchoutforintellect)

[shortandspry]

When you stumble upon words to perfectly describe how you’ve been feeling before you even knew yourself 

[eerin-deactivated-deactivated20]

“Slumber”

painted by Ron Hicks in 2011

[loumargi]

Sandro Botticelli, Primavera, (detail of the flowers in the meadow)

[consquisiteparole-blog]

La Jalousie, Philippe Garrel (2013)

[jaimustailor]

In Bloom

sketch on paper

[convexly]

robin by zaiko.monster on Flickr.

[be-riot]

“…and we drink our coffee and pretend not to look at each other.”

— Charles Bukowski, Luck  (via thelovejournals)

[shortandspry]

Saturday

[fanny-hs]

[maderefined]

[moveslikekeithrichards]

can u believe some people can see a cat & not immediately be filled with absolute unconditional love for that animal. they dont even get the urge to kiss them right on their little baby cat head. thats incomprehensible to me

[huariqueje]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“You have the blood of a poet. You have that and always will. You show, in the middle of savage things (that I like), the gentleness of your heart, that is so full of pain and light.”

— Federico García Lorca, from a letter to Miguel Hernández wr. c. April 1933