Lower East Life

Never apologize for burning too brightly or collapsing into yourself every night. That is how galaxies are made.
— Tyler Kent White   (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: allwereallyneedisweed, via thingsthatsing)

A flower blossoms for its own joy.
— Oscar Wilde (via purplebuddhaproject)

(via thingsthatsing)

We are what we think we are. The habitual inclination of our thoughts determines our talents and abilities, and our personality. So whatever you want to be, start to develop that pattern now.
— Paramahansa Yogananda (via abiding-in-peace)

(via thingsthatsing)

suicidewatch:

Morrissey, 1983

Young Moz! Meow!

reddlr-trees:

A photo I took back when me and my buddy worked at BK
View high resolution

reddlr-trees:

A photo I took back when me and my buddy worked at BK

(via tastefullyoffensive)

How could I know you fit my body like a glove? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.

I have time. Please, devour me.
Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima Mon Amour  (via youngfolksociety)

(via lajoiedevivre)

Q
your fav childhood memory?
from:Anonymous
A

ageekyfemmeforeveringlasses:

Not paying bills

Dedicated to my baby’s daddy View high resolution

Dedicated to my baby’s daddy

(Source: katumus, via insideoutfox)

theparisreview:

It could take from Monday to Thursday and three horses. The ink was unstable, the characters cramped, the paper tore where it creased. Stained with the leather and sweat of its journey, the envelope absorbed each climatic shift, as well as the salt and grease of the rider who handed it over with a four-day chance that by now things were different and while the head had to listen, the heart could wait.
—Lavinia Greenlaw, from “A World Where News Travelled Slowly.”

theparisreview:

It could take from Monday to Thursday
and three horses. The ink was unstable,
the characters cramped, the paper tore where it creased.
Stained with the leather and sweat of its journey,
the envelope absorbed each climatic shift,
as well as the salt and grease of the rider
who handed it over with a four-day chance
that by now things were different and while the head
had to listen, the heart could wait.

Lavinia Greenlaw, from “A World Where News Travelled Slowly.”

(via riotgrrrlproblems)

proustitute:

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes (detail), c. 1614-20

B

proustitute:

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes (detail), c. 1614-20

B

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