Gillian Flynn â Gone Girl

blake kathryn
i don't do bad sauce passes
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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DEAR READER
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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Kiana Khansmith
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
d e v o n
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

@theartofmadeline
Keni
seen from United States

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seen from Spain
seen from Lithuania

seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Kazakhstan
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seen from United Kingdom
@somberwinter
Gillian Flynn â Gone Girl
âOctober, crisp, misty, golden October, when the light is sweet and heavy.â
â Angela Carter, The Magic Toyshop (via tormentsofman)
It is a muggy August morning and the air in the room is still. Well over half the year has gone by already, which is a worry. I wanted to make something of myself this year. Thereâs still time, I think. Definitely some time.
Yrsa Daley-Ward, âThe Terribleâ (via sapphoisms)
âIt was June and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.â
â Maud Hart Lovelace (via pagewoman)
âAnd the Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earthâs dark breast Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.â
â Percy Bysshe Shelley ~ The Sensitive Plant
As time goes on, youâll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesnât, doesnât. Time solves most things. And what time canât solve, you have to solve yourself.
(via dvddytaughtme)
October, crisp, misty, golden October, when the light is sweet and heavy.
Angela Carter (via quotemadness)
Weâre in such a hurry most of the time we never get much chance to talk. The result is a kind of endless day-to-day shallowness, a monotony that leaves a person wondering years later where all the time went and sorry that itâs all gone.
Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (via quotespile)
This is the last leaf in the yearâs book. Now I come to grief.
Anne Sexton, from âEighteen Days Without Youâ (December 5th) in The Complete Poems (via watchoutforintellect)
A year ago, everything was different . I wouldnât have pictured myself like this , And now that I look back, I have realized that a year can do a lot to a person .
(via ruminehoney)
Camping out in Oregon was like being in the Revenant
O. Coast By James FitzgeraldÂ
It was Autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive.
Tom Robbins, from Still Life with Woodpecker (via boulevards)
Rain on roof outside window, gray light, deep covers and warm blankets. Rain and nip of autumn in air; nostalgia, itch to work better and bigger. That crisp edge of autumn.
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 26 August 1956 in Paris (via weltenwellen)