We Are Stranger(s)

🌙🌻 | aspiring trapeze artist | she/her | INFP | ~truly, madly, deeply~ •let the rain fall• "Il potere dell'immaginazione ci rende infiniti" ~ John Muir | Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes | 🌻🌙 @putherry

[weirdscrawl]

Understand me. I'm not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.

- Charles Bukowski

[vexheart]

[pmamtraveller]

"Beneath The Golden Willow"

Ed Perkins.

[undinesea]

I love stars, woods, springs, meadows, and flowers and I will return into their mysterious embrace,

Jaroslav Seifert, “Introductory Poem,” from The Early Poetry of Jaroslav Seifert

[quotefeeling]

“Growth is painful. Change is painful.But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong.”

— Mandy Hale

[starlightacademia]

Kazuo Ishiguro | from his Nobel prize (2017) acceptance speech.

[kakuusei]

THE LAST UNICORN (1982, Jules Bass and Arthur Rankin Jr.)

[bottleandpen]

[maureen2musings]

Chasing across the South Plains and Midwest

adamkylejackson

[buboplague]

prints available here

[andatsea]

Listen well darling, you’ll hear the world turning.

–

Twitter / Shop / INPRNT / Patreon

[quotespile]

“We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.”

— Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

[just-shower-thoughts]

Somewhere in the world, there is a tree that sprouted the same day you were born and has been growing along with you.

[quotespile]

“A library, no matter how humble or grand, is a series of sacred gateways. You pass through them and leave your own city behind; you journey through time and space; and for a little while, you escape the confines of your own circumstances.”

— Anthony Doerr, Cloud Cuckoo Land

[lusidight]

Free Fall @terra-h-l's Lovely digital painting inspired this piece. Lets all go thank them.

YEs it's way too fucking big.

[rarerior]

I rlly didnt post it here yet? Art for Httyd Zine

[kafk-a]

Virginia Woolf, from The Waves

[admitier]

[ID: A quote by Virginia Woolf.

It reads, “I think sometimes […] I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground. I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November: the mud, the mist, the dawn. I cannot be tossed about, or float gently, or mix with other people.” End ID.]