be curious, not judgemental
(dream it, believe it, achieve it)
with love, priya

brokje:

amu-baqi:

when you refuse to look at your bank account balances and pretend like everything is ok

(via jmashh)

byron2spoopy:

towritecomicsonherarms:

Murder

The legend of luther strode 1-6

Comics by Kate Leth

(via jmashh)

(Source: ohnopurple, via kelleysaid)

trillingconclusion:

Babies and College Students:

  • Ability to sleep anywhere
  • Random bouts of crying
  • Will try to eat almost anything
  • Enjoy watching cartoons
  • Known for their messiness
  • Brains are in a constant state of absorbing knowledge
  • Irregular sleep schedules
  • Often served bland mushy foods

(via haansolos)

hipsterinatardis:

electricalice:

mrsbeefheart:

I fukin love 14th century art art because everyone looks so shady and suspicious of ppl around them its AMAZING

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or just like they know something u dont and oh my gdfuck i cant

I believe the highest point is reached in Simone Martini’s Annunciation

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and the look of absolute hatred Mary and Gabriel exchange. 

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"mary i know ur only half a virgin"
"fuck off gabriel"

(via a-whole-thing-of-candy-beans)

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple…
by JK Rowling, Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (via autumncozy)

(Source: 500-days-of-autumn, via morrsmorrdre)

Steadily, the room shrank, till the book thief could touch the shelves within a few small steps. She ran the back of her hand along the first shelf, listening to the shuffle of her fingernails gliding across the spinal cord of each book. It sounded like an instrument, or the notes of running feet. She used both hands. She raced them. One shelf against the other. And she laughed. Her voice was sprawled out, high in her throat, and when she eventually stopped and stood in the middle of the room, she spent many minutes looking from the shelves to her fingers and back again. How many books had she touched? How many had she felt? She walked over and did it again, this time much slower, with her hand facing forward, allowing the dough of her palm to feel the small hurdle of each book. It felt like magic, like beauty, as bright lines of light shone down from a chandelier. Several times, she almost pulled a title from its place but didn’t dare disturb them. They were too perfect.
by The Book Thief, Markus Zusak (via inbeautylikethenight)

(via morrsmorrdre)