shark vs the universe
Show & Tell
we're not kids anymore.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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izzy's playlists!
YOU ARE THE REASON
NASA
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
will byers stan first human second
macklin celebrini has autism
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Cosmic Funnies
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KIROKAZE
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@theonlylast
“She had made a strong, cruel move towards freeing herself. But having more freedom she only became more profoundly aware of the big want. She wanted so many things. She wanted to read great, beautiful books, and be rich with them; she wanted to see beautiful things, and have the joy of them for ever; she wanted to know big, free people; and there remained always the want she could put no name to.”
— D.H. Lawrence, The Rainbow
“Can it be that I cannibalize others’ lives, the lives of others’ words? Or am I simply going back to where I came from, / not too long ago, to excuse whoever took my place / when I was gone?”
— John Ashbery, from “The Spacious Firmament”, Wakefulness: Poems
“I was looking for a love unlike my parents’ love or my sister’s love or the love on a foreign kitchen floor. I wanted my own kitchen to keep clean and full of bread and milk and hot sauce and a big clean empty sink where I could wash my dishes. I wanted to forgive my mother and father for their misery and find myself a light man who lived buoyantly and to be both his light and his dark, serious baby.”
— Rebecca Dinerstein, The Sunlit Night
“Distrust everything, if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now?”
— Galway Kinnell, from “Wait”
My own dark time, as I call it, the time of my loneliness, was most of my life, as I have said, and I can't make any real account of myself without speaking of it. The time passed so strangely, as if every winter were the same winter, and every spring the same spring.
Marilynne Robinson, from Gilead
“Frazzled nerves and above all exaggeration… I was always conscious of this little weak spot and sometimes I have been very much afraid of it. ‘I exaggerate everything, and that’s what makes me lame,’ I repeated this to myself hourly.”
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground
"You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?"
– Anne Carson, "Glass, Irony and God"
"You know what truly aches? Having so much inside you and not having the slightest clue of how to pour it out."
– Karen Quan, "Write like no one is reading"
"But I wasn't crying because I was sad. I guess I was crying because we had nowhere else to go, no choice but to go on living in this world. Crying because we had no other world to choose, and crying at everything before us, everything around us."
– Mieko Kawakami, "Heaven"
When I was little, I could sit for hours looking out the window. It could be because of a certain kind of music, or because it was dusk, or a certain slant of the light. There was a sensation in my chest, a churning. I couldn't put words to it then. But it was a knowledge that there was something out there. That there was a hole in the world. And a longing to go there. I still have that longing, but it doesn't overwhelm me like it used to. Until now. There's something about the light here that makes the longing bloom.
– Karin Tidbeck, from “Some Letters for Ove Lindström,” Jagannath: Stories (Cheeky Frawg Books, 2012)
I’m afraid that you’ll never understand me fully, and because of that, sometimes you’ll be frightened, disgusted, annoyed, or pleased. The thing that makes me different from all of you is the vast inner life I have. I just thrive in this, by nature. The bigger and deeper this inner life grows, the less anyone of you will understand me. That’s okay.
— Jack Kerouac, from a letter to Allen Ginsberg
30 trips around the sun and im still surprised when the days get shorter after a long summer like the nights already feel much cooler now and soon it'll be dark at 4 in the afternoon and i'll go wow man look how dark it is and it's only 4 and come spring ill realize that wow you can actually tell the days are getting longer and warmer isnt that crazy and in the summer i'll be lying in bed at 11 thinking woah it's still not dark out and then in september ill say to myself phew that sure was a long summer you can already tell the days are getting shorter and ill remember this post and maybe ill go look for it and reblog it and dear reader, i for one hope that we both live to see it
The Holiday (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers
having to come to terms with the fact that love is not an everlasting performance in which you attempt to retain the attention of your significant other but rather a release of control and putting faith into them and trusting them to choose to stay with you no matter what you have to offer
to love and be loved is to rest
“You should care about things in a way that makes it a possibility that tragedy will happen to you. If you hold your commitments lightly, in such a way that you can always divest yourself from one or the other of them if they conflict, then it doesn’t hurt you when things go badly. But you want people to live their lives with a deep seriousness of commitment: not to adjust their desires to the way the world actually goes, but rather to try to wrest from the world the good life that they desire. And sometimes that does lead them into tragedy.”
— Martha Nussbaum, in A World of Ideas, by Bill Moyers
“(…) I catch myself feeling, in a way that’s as old as I am but suddenly seems unfamiliar, light. I have felt so heavy for so long. At first I felt odd- as if I shouldn’t be feeling this lightness, that familiar little catch of pleasure in the heart which is inexplicable, though a lovely passage of notes or the splendidly turned petal of a tulip has triggered it. It’s my buoyancy, part of what keeps me alive: happy, suddenly with the concomitant experience of a sonata and the motion of the shadows of leaves. I have the desire to be filled with sunlight, to soak my skin in as much of it as I can drink up (…)”
— Mark Doty, from Heaven’s Coast: A Memoir
“Nothingness haunts being.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness
to begin with, the sweet grass by mary oliver, from “devotions”
