I REFUSE TO SINK

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.”

[watchoutforintellect]

“But I do feel strange-almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It’s a mystery. Always startled to find I’ve survived.”

— John Steinbeck, from Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters

[bled]

via weheartit

[objetpetita]

Handwritten draft of one of the last poems of Sylvia Plath ‘Sheep in Fog’

The hills step off into whiteness. People or stars Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.

[poemswords]

[michaelnordeman]

On the way down from Östertangen in Dalarna, Sweden. 

[minuty]

Be, don’t try to become.

(via naturaekos)

[timbllr]

centre georges pompidou, paris // taken from insta @timstahgram 

[ruinedchildhood]

[nikiiverma]

[remanence-of-love]

[understands]

[re-manentes]

[fixshe]

[especially]

[llleighsmith]

“No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.”

— ERIN BOW

[driflloon]

[573p5]