librarean:

Hey girl, are you a Shakespearean play? Because you seem hard to date, but it would be awesome if I could.

(via williamshakespearethings)

bunnyfood:

LOOK AT THIS CAT

(Source: weloveshortvideos.com, via ohmissmorstan)

hicockalorum:

Isabelle Arsenault
it is possible that this is the best thing i’ve seen this year. my eyeballs want to guzzle it up.

hicockalorum:

Isabelle Arsenault

it is possible that this is the best thing i’ve seen this year. my eyeballs want to guzzle it up.

(via ladyliteracy)

vintageanchorbooks:

"Bored" by Margaret Atwood "All those times I was boredout of my mind. Holding the logwhile he sawed it. Holdingthe string while he measured, boards,distances between things, or poundedstakes into the ground for rows and rowsof lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)weeded. Or sat in the backof the car, or sat still in boats,sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheelhe drove, steered, paddled. Itwasn’t even boredom, it was looking,looking hard and up close at the smalldetails. Myopia. The worn gunwales,the intricate twill of the seatcover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granularpink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fansof dry moss, the blackish and then the grayingbristles on the back of his neck.Sometimes he would whistle, sometimesI would. The boring rhythm of doingthings over and over, carryingthe wood, dryingthe dishes. Such minutiae. It’s whatthe animals spend most of their time at,ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointedsuch things out, and I would lookat the whorled texture of his square finger, earth underthe nail. Why do I remember it as sunnierall the time then, although it more oftenrained, and more birdsong?I could hardly wait to getthe hell out of there toanywhere else. Perhaps thoughboredom is happier. It is for dogs orgroundhogs. Now I wouldn’t be bored.Now I would know too much.Now I would know.”

vintageanchorbooks:

"Bored" by Margaret Atwood

"All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or pounded
stakes into the ground for rows and rows
of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)
weeded. Or sat in the back
of the car, or sat still in boats,
sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel
he drove, steered, paddled. It
wasn’t even boredom, it was looking,
looking hard and up close at the small
details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,
the intricate twill of the seat
cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular
pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans
of dry moss, the blackish and then the graying
bristles on the back of his neck.
Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes
I would. The boring rhythm of doing
things over and over, carrying
the wood, drying
the dishes. Such minutiae. It’s what
the animals spend most of their time at,
ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,
shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed
such things out, and I would look
at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under
the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier
all the time then, although it more often
rained, and more birdsong?
I could hardly wait to get
the hell out of there to
anywhere else. Perhaps though
boredom is happier. It is for dogs or
groundhogs. Now I wouldn’t be bored.
Now I would know too much.
Now I would know.”

nonconcept:

archatlas:

Easter Eggs Designed By Architects [via]

From the top: Morphosis, Two One Two, Andrew Zientek, Zaha Hadid,  Sir Nicholas Grimshaw, David Ling,  OVO / fourfoursixsix, Zaha Hadid.

Happy Easter

Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.

—C. S. Lewis (via victoriousvocabulary)

You can feel good about failure. Failure means you did something. You finished the story even if it wasn’t what you’d hoped. Failure means you’re learning. Growing. Doing.

—Chuck Wendig - Terribleminds (via wmilam)

(Source: liamhayeswriter, via literatureismyutopia)

kili-fili-and-frilly:

stabdaddroog:

gimel-vav-chet-shin:

#Canadian winter

THIS IS HOW YOU ADVERTISE HOLY SHIT

THAT IS CUTE AS HELL

(via skysignal)

theparisreview:

In the meantime there are common flickerson the lawn, words to whittle, friends to kid.In the meantime minds pose and puteach other on with drastic poise.And though the sun is lustrouson the snow, minds want to switch onevery watt inside. They want to rest their everyreason against the gusts of blank reposewithin their sets and make their blizard babies.
—Alice Fulton, from “Silencer.”Photography: Tom Hoying.

theparisreview:

In the meantime there are common flickers
on the lawn, words to whittle, friends to kid.
In the meantime minds pose and put
each other on with drastic poise.
And though the sun is lustrous
on the snow, minds want to switch on
every watt inside. They want to rest their every
reason against the gusts of blank repose
within their sets and make their blizard babies.

Alice Fulton, from “Silencer.”
Photography: Tom Hoying.

NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY