Charles-André Van Loo, Portrait de Jacques-Germain Soufflot (detail)
18th century
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
hello vonnie
Show & Tell
Cosmic Funnies
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No title available
almost home
will byers stan first human second

Kiana Khansmith
we're not kids anymore.
NASA

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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Monterey Bay Aquarium

★
sheepfilms

izzy's playlists!
ojovivo
The Bowery Presents
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

seen from Switzerland

seen from Angola

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from Argentina

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye

seen from Jordan
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Venezuela
seen from Tajikistan

seen from United States
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from France

seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye

seen from Argentina
@yourdoeeyeddear
Charles-André Van Loo, Portrait de Jacques-Germain Soufflot (detail)
18th century
i’m going to start saying “this is my design” everytime i fuck up at something
*runs over the curb* this is my design
Did you know 17 muscles are activated when you’re crying??? Fitness is my passion
white candles, white snow, white skies
“Picking Wild Flowers” (also known as “Picking Daisies”) (1905) (detail) by Hermann Seeger (1857-1945).
Vladimir Nabokov, from Letters to Véra
some things are too terrible to grasp at once. other things— naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror— are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself— quite to one’s surprise— in an entirely different world.
Danielle Frankel Studio
The Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris.
| source
the secret history; book designs
bisexuals will see someone in period clothes and be like yes
Edith Head’s original sketches vs. final designs for Audrey Hepburn — in Roman Holiday (1953), Sabrina (1954), & Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)
elie saab | fall 2020
bridge of sighs and st john’s college chapel, cambridge
Verona, Italy
a sudden wind rustled through the birches; a gust of yellow leaves came storming down. i took a sip of my drink. if i had grown up in that house i couldn’t have loved it more, couldn’t have been more familiar with the creak of the swing, or the pattern of the clematis vines on the trellis, or the velvety swell of land as it faded to gray on the horizon, and the strip of highway visible -just barely – in the hills, beyond the trees.