[luvbey]

i just want to sit in front of the ocean for a little while

[highonoverthinking]

July wasn’t going so well for franz kafka

[osseous-matter-blog]

“When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster?”

—

Mary Shelley, 

from Frankenstein

(via morgoths)

[bryonyashley]

Crimson Peak Set Interiors - Open in new tab for HR.

[bone-of-contention]

A bird’s nest in a broken skull at St. Leonard’s Crypt.

[daguerreotype-era]

1/6 image case with locks of hair

[petaltexturedskies]

All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person's (or thing's) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.

Susan Sontag, On Photography (originally published in 1977)

[adrasteiax]

“Love-soaked, rain-soaked— if people ask which drenched your sleeves, what will you say?”

— Izumi Shikibu, from The Ink Dark Moon [translated by Jane Hirshfield with Aratani Mariko]

[pollen]

Mary Oliver, from "Such Singing in the Wild Branches"

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[lifeinpoetry]

“I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.”

— Trista Mateer, from “For the One Who Loved My Hands More than Anything Else,” The Dogs I Have Kissed

[eloquentedition]

Aliberk Senbus

https://www.instagram.com/eloquentedition/

Source

[iamheavymeta-lll]

[cervine-arctophile]

angelica maria zorrilla

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

If someone were to split her in half—the sound of fresh leaves breaking—they would see her as an open pomegranate, healthy and pink, translucent with clear eyes. The base of her life was as docile as a brook running through the countryside. And in this countryside she herself moved as confident and serene as an animal grazing.

– Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

[petaltexturedskies]

I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.

Anaïs Nin, The Four-Chambered Heart (originally published in 1950)

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar