Waiter: Do U Want Soup Or Salad ? Me: Whichever Is Easier For U

when oscar wilde wrote “there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands” i felt that

Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Garden Witch | A4 Print by NessPrints

“I’m 24 years old and play this game with myself: buy myself something delicious for the weekend, blueberry muffins or flaky croissants, and forget it by Friday. Saturday morning comes and I am lucky to know me. I wasn’t born knowing how to love me, but I’m learning now; catching up for lost time between us. I keep the windows open. I play oldies throughout every corner of my apartment. I tell the dog how good it feels, at least for today, at least for right now, to be alive.”

— Schuyler Peck, Can’t Get Enough Of My Love (via schuylerpeck)

Vincent Cacciotti

rawest fucking hozier lyrics in no particular order:

i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive

i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

and when the earth is trembling on some new beginning with the same sweet shock of when adam first came

every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen

if I was born as a blackthorn tree i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies

some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

before the wave hits, marveling at god; before he feels alone one final time and marries the sea

betray the moon as acolyte on first and fierce affirming sight

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me, I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me

screaming the name of a foreigner’s god; the purest expression of grief

sweet and right and merciful, i’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

so i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you

my head was war, my skin was soaked, I called your name ‘til the fever broke

be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

ambition is devouring her,

cracking and bending,

heart clenched and dripping

with poison greed and silver blood

the 3 am thoughts they say

are the truest a mind can form

her 3 am thoughts just say

when will I prove them all wrong

[ ode to slytherin ; r.c.s.]

The Bolshoi dancer Nikolai Tsiskaridze being rehearsed by the 87-year old Galina Ulanova captured by photographer Mikhail Logvinov 

Oscar Wilde saying his favourite poetess was Sappho was gay/lesbian solidarity

✨ 🌱⛺🌱✨

 I think I might keep the tent for a while.