I’m deleting this blog soon.
my new blog is: http://www.vaginalcobwebs.tumblr.com
…yeah
1 note (2:28)
making my parents watch the Adele dvd with me. ..again
not even halfway into Hometown Glory and I’m already tearin up
2 notes (9:01)
❝
1,609 notes (2:30)
I love you also means I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else.
— Jonathan Safran Foer
I hate when “Tumblr Famous” people- aka people who spend their lives on a blogging site and pretend not to care about the opinions of others when in reality they directly feed off of positive affirmations and reassurance that they dont need to cut themselves or that theyre too good for the guy theyre in love with who’s actually out of their league because in reality theyre not so great and they have social and confidence issues- say stupid things like “5 til my next thousand wink wink.” I purposely unfollow every single person who does that just so I can sit back like the pompous sadistic asshole that I am and laugh to myself thinking, ” haha now it’s six bitch.” because honestly if you need to be promoted by people then obviously you possess security issues and need a pat on your pack constantly. most of your followers probably wouldnt even recognize you if they saw you walking down Broadway St. (maybe because you strategically pose in every picture you post so it only portrays the attractive side of you which is rarely even seen in real life). Maybe it’s time for people to grow up and face the real world. you’re a teenager. congrats! you have hormones, it’s always you against the world, nothing ever goes your way, you want a new piercing yaddayaddayadda shut the fuck up. it’s nothing new. blech what has this website become
8 notes (1:54)
❝
459 notes (1:20)
Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.
— Vladimir Nabokov
❝
267 notes (9:06)
If you take a book with you on a journey,…an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it…yes, books are like flypaper—memories cling to the printed page better than anything else.
— Cornelia Funke, Inkheart
GOT AN ‘A’ IN A.P. U.S. THE COSMOS ARE ON MY SIDE BBY
what a fantasssttifficcuuullarrr day
1 note (7:22)
❝
190 notes (9:08)
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
— Oriah Mountain Dreamer
