I hijacked a rainbow and I ended up here :)
Hiya you beautiful earthlings!


I do not own some of the pictures and I always stated the rightful owner of the reblogged pictures. The ones that are unstated, well that's mine!
Lazy weekend
Mountain ranges of India. Breathtaking.

http://billstrickland.tumblr.com/post/75262536287/when-i-look-at-the-lives-of-the-poets-i

billstrickland:

When I look at the lives of the poets, I understand what’s wrong with me. They were willing to make the sacrifices that I’m not willing to make. They were so tortured, so messed up. I’m only a little messed up. I’m tortured to the point where I don’t sleep very well sometimes, and I don’t answer mail as I should. Sometimes I feel a languor of spirit when I get an email asking me to do something. Also, I’ve run up a significant credit-card debt. But that’s no real self-torture.

— Paul Chowder, in Nicholson Baker's The Anthologist

Reblogged from aibnbf, Posted by thedailydoodles.
thedailydoodles:

"Just One More Wasted Day”
As nighttime turns to day, and daytime turns to nightYou sit alone in your room, bathed in your laptop’s light
Thinking back to your youth, remembering all that you have seen,Your best times were always spentStaring at your computer screen.
So while life is passing by, As you spend it clicking and scrolling awayIt must be fine for now, since it’s just one more wasted day.
(Thank you to Chiara Adams of Doublethink Design for .giffing this for me!)
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nomadic-mantra:

If you’ve ever doubted yourself, walk deep into any forest. Notice how the trees still stand even though they are given no recognition. Walk along any stream. The water still flows, though no one stops to praise it. Watch the stars late at night; they shine without acknowledgment. Humans are just the same. We are made out of the same elements as these beautiful wonders. Always remember your beauty and self worth. 

Reblogged from thingssheloves, Posted by thisbrilliantsky.
thisbrilliantsky:


Literature Meme — Five Poets — Robert Frost (2/5)

Like the nineteenth-century Romantics, [Frost] maintained that a poem is “never a put-up job…. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a loneliness. It is never a thought to begin with. It is at its best when it is a tantalizing vagueness.” Yet, “working out his own version of the ‘impersonal’ view of art,” as Hyatt H. Waggoner observed, Frost also upheld T. S. Eliot’s idea that the man who suffers and the artist who creates are totally separate. [x]

edwardsheerran:

andthatlittleblackdress:

honestly sometimes in school people say the most ridiculous shit and I make this face and look somewhere at an imaginary camera like I’m on The Office

My school has security cameras in every classroom and I’ve done this at least 3 times each class this entire year. Today the security guard came up to me and told me I was his hero. 

Reblogged from incisio, Posted by ribheart.
palm-alien:


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