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marcomazzoni:

it’s colors time… soon…RoqLaRue…
Sep 21, 2014 / 981 notes

marcomazzoni:

it’s colors time… soon…RoqLaRue…

marcomazzoni:

"Aquarium" 2014, colored pencils and ink on moleskine paper, cm 14x18
Sep 21, 2014 / 799 notes

marcomazzoni:

"Aquarium" 2014, colored pencils and ink on moleskine paper, cm 14x18

Sep 21, 2014

Some photos from my hike this morning.

I crave space. It charges my batteries. It helps me breathe. Being around people can be so exhausting, because most of them love to take and barely know how to give - except for a rare few.
Katie Kacvinsky (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

(via panatmansam)

Sep 21, 2014 / 3,107 notes
homeintheforest:

IMG_2238 by Lewmzi on Flickr.
Sep 19, 2014 / 1,222 notes

homeintheforest:

IMG_2238 by Lewmzi on Flickr.

(via paganblood)

Reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself.
Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign (via hqlines)

 

(via kushandwizdom)

(via acrylicalchemy)

Sep 19, 2014 / 1,930 notes
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
 Oscar WildeThe Importance of Being Earnest (via feellng)

(via wilde4words)

Sep 19, 2014 / 4,231 notes
aseaofquotes:

Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex
Sep 17, 2014 / 4,336 notes

aseaofquotes:

Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex

(via aseaofquotes)

One time, your heart almost slipped away on a river
barge. Your hands seemed to claw the sky. I’m sorry.
No one else made anything out of those streaked clouds.
The fact that it happened is proof enough for me.
Richard Jackson, from “Certainty,” Out of Place: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2014)
Sep 17, 2014 / 119 notes
Be it life or death, we crave only reality. If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business. Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars. I cannot count one. I know not the first letter of the alphabet. I have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things.

Henry David Thoreau

Walden - Where I Lived and What I Lived For

(via fuckyeahthoreau)
Sep 16, 2014 / 44 notes