Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time…That life- whatever else it is- is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch.
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via aroc)
I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.
Bram Stoker, Dracula (via petrichour)

the more you keep bothering me about this the less i want to talk to you 

daftghost:

"And whether or not it is clear to you,  no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."   - Max Ehrmann, "Desiderata"

She smiled and the universe expanded.

aphelia:

slow morning by **mog** on Flickr.

do your hair for me
play fair for me
go to jail for me
paint your nails for me
sing high for me
laugh for me
never look down for me
cry for me
watch the rain for me
play shy for me
die for me

do anything you wanna do

as long as it’s for me.

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
Zora Neale Hurston (via splitterherzen)
trashedagain:

🎈