χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά

Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.

[themoodboards]

❝i want to write a novel about silence. the things people don’t say.❞ — virginia woolf.

[peacefulandcozy]

Instagram: thenovelacademy

[peacefulandcozy]

Instagram: abookandadream

[gonegonegone12345-deactivated20]

“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too.”

━ Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

[joyexe]

[daweyt]

La Nymphée by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1878.

[wintermorrow]

The dead wander the lanes of the next life like strangers lost in Venice.

Hilary Mantel, The mirror and the light 

[daweyt]

“I am drunk with so many roses / Redder than wine. […] / I drink their sigh briefly, I breathe with their life,”

— Renée Vivien, from “Flambeaux éteints; Les Roses sont entrées”, published. c. 1907.

[desology]

Modesty - Antonio Corradini, 1752

[yastutma-deactivated20240911]

[achasma]

Nicolás de Tolentino (detail) by Juan Pantoja de la Cruz, 1601.

[perrfectly]

Photo by Sarah Crutchfield

[daria-kin]

Karlovy Vary, Czech Republic.

Photo by Dani Kioko

[vintagepales]

[croathia]

London, United Kingdom. © ig: urbanxkoi

[bienenkiste]

Ph. Anna Rosa Krau

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I am my own enemy, I am my own murderer! My own murderer, that is what I am!

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Selected Prose; “The Double,” (via violentwavesofemotion)