But why?

(Source: spleenwheel, via fuckyeahexistentialism)


“Wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.”
—One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez

"But don’t say a word,
don’t tell a soul, they wouldn’t
understand, they couldn’t, never
in a million years, how fine,
how magnificent we were"

Hayden Carruth, from “Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey” in Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey: Poems 1991-1995 (Copper Canyon Press, 1996)

(Source: literarymiscellany, via apoetreflects)

Has God promised you things?

La passion de Jeanne d’Arc, Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1928

(via blue-voids)

Clara Lieu - Wonder, 2009

(Source: blue-voids)

(Source: meyrem, via oliviacatalina)

"I’m a dying flower, but I want to be in bloom just one more time, just like before."

— Akuro no Oka - Dir en grey  (via weaverofstars)

(Source: arsenicattitude, via an-itinerant-poet)

Phyllis Galembo - West African Masquerade, 2005-06

(Source: blue-voids)

"He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being."

— Jean-Paul Sartre 

(Source: likethesun)


Wixarika mara´akame’s (shaman’s) arrow ca. 1930 Las Huntas, Mexico


Wixarika mara´akame’s (shaman’s) arrow ca. 1930 Las Huntas, Mexico

(Source: munan15)