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ithrowmyviolets:

I have always tried to make a home for myself, but I have not felt at home in myself. I have worked hard at being the hero of my own life, but every time I checked the register of displaced persons, I was still on it. I didn’t know how to belong. Longing? Yes. Belonging? No.

Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

(via rohie-deactivated20191102)

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lulz-time:

This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.

(via idahointhewinter)

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lattefoam:

me reblogging yet another photo of a small rural quirky looking house in the middle of a field or valley in some european or scandinavian country: so fun so fresh so sexy

(via chessys)

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itcomesfromwithn:

“Those I loved are false or dead; those I love, absent and suffering; and I, oppressed and injured, can be of no use to them.”

— Mary Shelley, from a letter to Edward John Trelawny c. April 1827 featured in Letters of Mary W. Shelley
(via violentwavesofemotion)

(via rohie-deactivated20191102)

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(via idoughnotlikepeople)

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nevver:

Squeezing out sparks, Cig Harvey

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viola-and-chill:

woodrider:

jncos:

Who was the man who first salted the slug

What was he thinking to try

Roaming the lands pouring salt on god’s creatures

Hoping for one which would die

Billy Joel - Piano Man

I hate this site

(via tyleroakley)

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ironically-ginger:

this poem by W.B. Yeats makes me think of grantaire everytime

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violentwavesofemotion:

Mahmoud Dawrish, from Almond Blossom & Beyond: Poems; “Happy, I Know Not Why,”

(via rohie-deactivated20191102)

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