UPDATES
Currently reading : We need to talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver
Just finished : Brazen by Katherine Longshore
A little review : I love the Tudors and it was enjoyable to view them through the eyes of a minor character of those times. Very interesting to see that an arranged marriage could still be a happy one in those days; All in all, brilliant!
(m.w)
My name is Maria, I like poetry, music, cats, flowers, beautiful people and pizza.
These silly boys with their cut throat words and their cut glass jaws, these silly boys with steel as spines and fires as hearts, these silly silly boys with their tiny minds and their wet pink mouths, their groping hands and their wandering eyes.
These silly boys with their throats cut and their spines melted and their hearts doused and their minds broken and their mouths blue, their hands cut off and their eyes clawed out.
"These silly boys" (m.w)
lelaid:

Jane Birkin in Comment Réussir Quand On Est Con Et Pleurnichard, 1974

lelaid:

Jane Birkin in Comment Réussir Quand On Est Con Et Pleurnichard, 1974

leaveyouapen:

The Curves Of A Halo
your halo doesn’t reside over that pretty head, let me remind you; it’s in the curve of your smile, in the arches of your tongue, the sweep of your hips, your halos lay concealed in the depths of your body, and with each touch of you I feel that glimmer and that warmth you give is where it shows,  you glow.

Poetry by leaveyouapen
lordbyron44:

 Prix de Lausanne by Gregory Batardon

lordbyron44:

 Prix de Lausanne by Gregory Batardon

When I Eventually Go (K.P.K)

A woman is not written in braille, you don’t have to touch her to know her.
(via hugmoi)
Depression is not beautiful poetry and sympathy from loved ones and a beautiful girl crying in the middle of the night while her boyfriend holds her and whispers “I love you” over and over again.
Depression is not dead flowers and lana del rey music and dark eyeliner and lipstick smearing your face as you cry in a dirty bathtub smeared with your own blood.
Depression is a foul taste in your mouth and smell in your room because you don’t care enough to take a shower or brush your teeth.
Depression is longing for the days you cry because feeling something is better than feeling nothing and being sad is better than the blunt anxiety that is a constant in the back of your mind.
Depression is watching your friends slip away because you don’t care enough to call them or see them and in turn feeling lonely and ignored because it feels like they don’t care enough to call you or see you.
Depression is watching your grades plunge because how can you care about them when you don’t even care if you live or die?
Depression is having your teachers and your parents call you lazy and unmotivated and a deadbeat because of these grades and because your illness is so blind to them you have trouble convincing even yourself that it exists.
Depression is your back aching from staying in bed for hours a day, hoping you can live out your life in bed until you don’t have to live anymore.
Depression is staying up until five a.m. watching tv because if you turn everything off you will be alone with your thoughts and there is nothing on earth worse than that.
Depression is groaning in disappointment and anxiety when you wake up the next morning.
Depression is praying yet again that night that you don’t wake up.
Depression is not romantic. It is not beautiful. It is disgusting, empty, ugly. It is a pain so deep and long lasting you forget how you ever were without it.

In honor of Robin Williams and all the depressed people in the world.

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

(via thephilyptian)


Academy ballet dancers, 1969

Academy ballet dancers, 1969

liftedandgiftedd:

this is fucking gold

liftedandgiftedd:

this is fucking gold

javeliner:

think about the concept of a library. that’s one thing that humanity didn’t fuck up. we did a good thing when we made libraries

sometimes-im-a-ballerina:

vaganovaboy:

Olga Smirnova & Vladislav Lantratov rehearsing at the Bolshoi Theatre.

asdfghjkl just kill me now shes so perfect

why does no one take me seriously as an artist in my own right in the painting of words

S