Love.

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
Remember your hands; how did your lips
Feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
Have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
My vague memory of you. I live with pain
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
Vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
Glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of
Summer pain me; because of you, I again
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.

Pablo Neruda (via observando)
(Reblogged from observando)
(Reblogged from observando)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley, Invictus (via observando)
(Reblogged from observando)

Vor genau drei Jahren lag ich hier in meinem alten Zimmer in dem Haus, in dem ich aufgewachsen bin und hab von einer anderen Welt geträumt. Keine fantastische Welt, so wie in meinen Büchern, sondern eine Welt, in der ich auf meinen eigenen Füßen stehe und all das erleben darf, wovon ich schon träume, seit dem ich zehn oder elf war.
Heute liege ich in dem Bett meiner Schwester. Mein Bett steht hier nicht mehr. Es hat sich viel geändert bei uns zu Hause und doch so wenig.
Meine Schwestern sind erwachsen. Sie streiten sich nicht mehr wegen denselben Sachen. Meine Eltern schimpfen mit ihnen wegen anderen Sachen.
Ich liege hier und denke darüber nach, was ich hätte anders machen sollen. Ob ich hätte hier bleiben sollen. In meiner alten kleinen Welt mit meinen trivialen Problemen und Sorgen…
Wäre ich jetzt glücklicher? Hätte ich all das nicht erleben müssen?

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some devine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Alfred Tennyson (via observando)
(Reblogged from observando)
Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.
William Faulkner (via observando)
(Reblogged from observando)

zanetheaiden:

zanetehaiden:

its-shnazzy-time:

The only thing I can think about is how long it’s going to take to get rid of all that glitter

why

WHY

WHY?????

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS???? THAT IS MOTHERFUCKING ART HERPES YOU UNDULATING SANCTIMONIOUS NIPPLE QUIVER.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT GLITTER IS MADE OF??? GLITTER IS SATAN CUM. THATS IT. IT IS SATANS SEMEN. DID YOU FUCK THE DEVIL? DID YOU? DID YOU? BECAUSE IF YOU DIDN’T ITS GONNA FEEL LIKE IT SINCE YOU’VE SLATHERED IT ALL OVER YOUR VARIOUS PARTS AND ORIFICES. YOU CAN SHOWER ALL YOU WANT BUT THE GOLD BEADS ARE GOING TO STAY WITH YOU TO THE GRAVE.

YOU’RE GONNA BE SIXTY FUCKIN YEARS OLD AND STILL PICKING SPARKLY SPECKS OUT OF YOUR COOCH. YOUR KIDS ARE GONNA POP OUT IN A SHOWER OF FUCKING CONFETTI BECAUSE YOU WERE FOOL ENOUGH TO COVER YOUR LOVE TACO IN GAY SPRINKLES. ANY MAN OR WOMAN THAT GRACES YOUR FUN BUN WITH HIS TONGUE IS GOING TO GET A GODDAMN MOUTHFUL OF FAIRY EXCREMENT AND NEVER WANT TO GO ANYWHERE NEAR THAT CAVERNOUS FRICTION TRAP AGAIN

YEAH, LAUGH RIGHT NOW. POST YOUR FUCKING HIPSTERY PICTURES AND ACT ALL ARTSY AND SHIT, BUT FROM NOW ON YOU’RE DONE WITH LIFE. ITS ALL DOWN HILL FROM HERE. WHEN YOU REACH THE DOORS OF DEATH IN YOUR OLD AGE, CRUSTY PYRITE PRICKS STILL FALLING FROM YOUR WRINKLES, THE HOODED MAN WILL CONFRONT YOU AND ASK YOU IF IT WAS WORTH IT, AND YOU WILL SAY NAY. YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN. YOU WILL NEVER LOVE AS YOU ONCE DID, RUN AS YOU ONCE DID, BE FREE AS YOU ONCE DID, FOR THE ITCH RIDDEN PRISON THAT IS NOW YOUR BODY HAS BEEN TAINTED BY THE LUST OF GLITTERING GRANULES OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY.

I HOPE YOU’RE FUCKING HAPPY.

Remember when I got really angry about glitter

(Source: platosmusee)

(Reblogged from moeranda)

exoticwild:

I have a ‘to-read’ pile as massive as my existential crisis.

(Reblogged from beautiful-bibliophile)
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
T.S. Eliot (via observando)
(Reblogged from observando)

istanbulfood:

Ayaş domatesi! Finally tomato season, almost! #heirloom and #organic #tomato #turkishfood #istanbulfoodcom #foodphotography #photographer #istanbulfood #market #pazar #enamel (at Ozgurluk Parki Organik Pazari)

(Reblogged from istanbulfood)

jakemalik:

taylorthebloody:

ppitte:

It has come to my attention that a lot of people haven’t played this game so pay attention:

Grab a friend and tie your hands as the following picture shows

image

Now try getting yourselves free well maybe not free but apart from each other, so that the ropes aren’t tangled together, without opening the knots or otherwise removing the rope from around your wrists. It is possible.

im sorry friend but your arm must go

image

(Reblogged from intothetardis)
(Reblogged from quaffl-e)
I detest the masculine point of view. I am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. I think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore.
Virginia Woolf  (via listopada)

(Source: fagcity)

(Reblogged from icypiece)

(Source: lenmanas)

(Reblogged from narglefighter)
I hope they ask about me & I hope you tell them you fucked up.
(Reblogged from justtheladyinblack)