03 6 / 2012

31 5 / 2012

fishingboatproceeds:

Who knows if this movie will suck, but I like ol’ Owl Eyes (who in the novel is a metaphor for God) saying, “Mr. Gatsby doesn’t exist,” because of course Gatsby doesn’t exist.

(Source: mcavoys)

Permalink 11,169 notes

31 5 / 2012

jk im really not that mad haha

“fuck” seems to be my catchword for the evening.

31 5 / 2012

those god damn ivy league schools can go stick a tree branch up their asses and then try to sit on the pile of shit they leave behind after they bulldoze through all of their fucking applicants’ files every winter.

29 5 / 2012

we were born and raised

in a summer haze.

29 5 / 2012

I am going to name my child Fitzgerald. Or at least make that his middle name… OR marry someone named Fitzgerald!

28 5 / 2012

let’s go on adventures

and find little blue french cafes and take yellow pictures in the grass and have ham and cheese quiche on a picnic in a random field and drive through empty streets with the wind blowing through our hair while singing along to the radio really badly (or really well) and sip drinks out of bent straws and get all we could out of these wonderful days and nights.

28 5 / 2012

"

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

"

T. S. Eliot

28 5 / 2012

"

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"

Robert Frost

28 5 / 2012

farewell-kingdom:

Being here, by Mark Garry, thread pins, beads

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