How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn’t care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.
━ Emily Dickinson (via observando)

(via danielatumbls)

Debemos arrojar a los oceanos del tiempo una botella de náufragos siderales, para que el universo sepa de nosotros lo que no han de contar las cucarachas que nos sobrevivirán: que aqui existió un mundo donde prevalació el sufrimiento y la injusticia, pero donde conocimos el amor y donde fuimos capaces de imaginar la felicidad.
━ Gabriel García Márquez (via sinapismica)

(via ana-tomia)

greeneyes55:

Paris Opera 1950s 
Photo: Patrice Molinard 

greeneyes55:

Paris Opera 1950s

Photo: Patrice Molinard 

(Source: rufiosomething)

We die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
━ T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party (via bookmania)

(via longdivisionnnn)

greeneyes55:

Photo: Willem van de Poll

greeneyes55:

Photo: Willem van de Poll

nickelsonwooster:

Hatter.
dpattinson:

Matteo Gioli in Paris, Global Village showroom
photo - David Pattinson

nickelsonwooster:

Hatter.

dpattinson:

Matteo Gioli in Paris, Global Village showroom

photo - David Pattinson

greeneyes55:

Tram 41 Bucharest Romania 
Photo: Andrei Pandele 

greeneyes55:

Tram 41 Bucharest Romania

Photo: Andrei Pandele 

Then one day, suddenly, it ends, it changes, I don’t understand, it dies, or it’s me, I don’t understand that either. I ask the words that remain— sleeping, waking, morning, evening. They have nothing to say.
━ Samuel Beckett, Endgame (via hellanne)
I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.
━ Ferdinand Von Schrubentauffrt (via opaletta)

(Source: word-digest, via abibuo)

greeneyes55:

Vienna 1901 
Photo: Ferdinand Schmutzer 

greeneyes55:

Vienna 1901 

Photo: Ferdinand Schmutzer 

Your only problem, perhaps, is that you scream without letting yourself cry.
━ Friedrich Nietzsche, Selected Letters (via hellanne)
Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.
━ CS Lewis (via thorninyourside)