Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:36

(Source: vinstage)

Reblogged from Chasing the light.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:36

Reblogged from Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:34

great tv recommendations: monty python’s flying circus
↳ “I’ve noticed a tendency for this programme to get rather silly”

Favourite comedy troupe!

Reblogged from shockingly rude.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:32

Out on the pale criss-crossed sand, high-stepping, fringed,
gauntleted, stalked some fantastic leviathan (she was still enlarging
the pool), and slipped into the vast fissures of the mountain side.
And then, letting her eyes slide imperceptibly above the pool and rest
on that wavering line of sea and sky, on the tree trunks which the
smoke of steamers made waver on the horizon, she became with all that
power sweeping savagely in and inevitably withdrawing, hypnotised, and
the two senses of that vastness and this tininess (the pool had
diminished again) flowering within it made her feel that she was bound
hand and foot and unable to move by the intensity of feelings which
reduced her own body, her own life, and the lives of all the people in
the world, for ever, to nothingness. So listening to the waves,
crouching over the pool, she brooded.-To the Lighthouse
Out on the pale criss-crossed sand, high-stepping, fringed,
gauntleted, stalked some fantastic leviathan (she was still enlarging
the pool), and slipped into the vast fissures of the mountain side.
And then, letting her eyes slide imperceptibly above the pool and rest
on that wavering line of sea and sky, on the tree trunks which the
smoke of steamers made waver on the horizon, she became with all that
power sweeping savagely in and inevitably withdrawing, hypnotised, and
the two senses of that vastness and this tininess (the pool had
diminished again) flowering within it made her feel that she was bound
hand and foot and unable to move by the intensity of feelings which
reduced her own body, her own life, and the lives of all the people in
the world, for ever, to nothingness. So listening to the waves,
crouching over the pool, she brooded.

-To the Lighthouse

(Source: mstrkrftz.com)

Reblogged from euphoria.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:31

darkmasterplan:

"My name is Lemony Snicket and it is my duty to tell you their tale. No one knows the precise cause of the Baudelaire fire, but just like that, the Baudelaire children became the Baudelaire orphans."  -A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004)

(Source: rickgrimeshappens)

Reblogged from A reader lives a thousand lives.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:31

She saw the light again. With some irony in her
interrogation, for when one woke at all, one's relations changed, she
looked at the steady light, the pitiless, the remorseless, which was so
much her, yet so little her, which had her at its beck and call (she
woke in the night and saw it bent across their bed, stroking the
floor), but for all that she thought, watching it with fascination,
hypnotised, as if it were stroking with its silver fingers some sealed
vessel in her brain whose bursting would flood her with delight, she
had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it
silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and
the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which
curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in
her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and
she felt, It is enough! It is enough!-To the Lighthouse
She saw the light again. With some irony in her
interrogation, for when one woke at all, one's relations changed, she
looked at the steady light, the pitiless, the remorseless, which was so
much her, yet so little her, which had her at its beck and call (she
woke in the night and saw it bent across their bed, stroking the
floor), but for all that she thought, watching it with fascination,
hypnotised, as if it were stroking with its silver fingers some sealed
vessel in her brain whose bursting would flood her with delight, she
had known happiness, exquisite happiness, intense happiness, and it
silvered the rough waves a little more brightly, as daylight faded, and
the blue went out of the sea and it rolled in waves of pure lemon which
curved and swelled and broke upon the beach and the ecstasy burst in
her eyes and waves of pure delight raced over the floor of her mind and
she felt, It is enough! It is enough!

-To the Lighthouse

(Source: official-maximum-ride)

Reblogged from lacrymosa.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:27

 
 Losing personality, one lost the fret, the hurry,
the stir; and there rose to her lips always some exclamation of triumph
over life when things came together in this peace, this rest, this
eternity; and pausing there she looked out to meet that stroke of the
Lighthouse, the long steady stroke, the last of the three, which was
her stroke, for watching them in this mood always at this hour one
could not help attaching oneself to one thing especially of the things
one saw; and this thing, the long steady stroke, was her stroke.
-To the Lighthouse

 

 Losing personality, one lost the fret, the hurry,

the stir; and there rose to her lips always some exclamation of triumph

over life when things came together in this peace, this rest, this

eternity; and pausing there she looked out to meet that stroke of the

Lighthouse, the long steady stroke, the last of the three, which was

her stroke, for watching them in this mood always at this hour one

could not help attaching oneself to one thing especially of the things

one saw; and this thing, the long steady stroke, was her stroke.

-To the Lighthouse

Reblogged from Flowers in my hair, demons in my head..

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:26

Reblogged from Pull To Open.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:24

They all had their little treasures… And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again. And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of life? he said. It is not sensible. For it was odd; and she believed it to be true; that with all his gloom and desperation he was happier, more hopeful on the whole, than she was. Less exposed to human worries—perhaps that was it. He had always his work to fall back on. Not that she herself was ”pessimistic,” as he accused her of being. Only she thought life—and a little strip of time presented itself to her eyes—her fifty years. There it was before her—life. Life, she thought—but she did not finish her thought. She took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real, something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her husband. A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she sat alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the most part, oddly enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she called life terrible, hostile, and quick to pounce on you if you gave it a chance.
-Virginia Woolf

They all had their little treasures… And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again. And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of life? he said. It is not sensible. For it was odd; and she believed it to be true; that with all his gloom and desperation he was happier, more hopeful on the whole, than she was. Less exposed to human worries—perhaps that was it. He had always his work to fall back on. Not that she herself was ”pessimistic,” as he accused her of being. Only she thought life—and a little strip of time presented itself to her eyes—her fifty years. There it was before her—life. Life, she thought—but she did not finish her thought. She took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real, something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her husband. A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she sat alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the most part, oddly enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she called life terrible, hostile, and quick to pounce on you if you gave it a chance.

-Virginia Woolf

Reblogged from Anything and everything..

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:18

claudemonet-art:

Vetheuil, 1880
Claude Monet

claudemonet-art:

Vetheuil, 1880

Claude Monet

Reblogged from L'écume des jours..

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:17

Young Man Picking Flowers

heartisthedrum:

W. S. Merwin
Young Man Picking Flowers

All at once he is no longer
young with his handful of flowers
in the bright morning their fragrance
rising from them as though they were
still on the stalk where they opened
only this morning to the light
in which somewhere unseen the thrush
goes on singing its perfect song
into the day of the flowers
and while he stands there holding them
the cool dew runs from them onto
his hand at this hour of their lives
is it the hand of the young man
who found them only this morning

Reblogged from Heart is the Drum.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:14

 
Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of
beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half way to truth, were tangled in
a golden mesh? or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly
Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all?
Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But
if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? 
-Virginia Woolf

 

Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of

beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half way to truth, were tangled in

a golden mesh? or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly

Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all?

Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But

if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? 

-Virginia Woolf

(Source: weheartit.com)

Reblogged from Flowers in my hair, demons in my head..

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:13

"It was his power, his gift, suddenly to shed all superfluities, to shrink and diminish so that he looked barer and felt sparer, even physically, yet lost none of his intensity of mind, and so to stand on his little ledge facing the dark of human ignorance, how we know nothing and the sea eats away the ground we stand on—that was his fate, his gift.

He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.”

-To the Lighthouse

(Source: englishsnow)

Reblogged from That Girl.

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:11

(Source: seasonal-love)

Reblogged from Flowers in my hair, demons in my head..

Sunday September 07, 2014 at 21:07

Was it not secretly this that she wanted, and therefore when Mr. Carmichael shrank away from her, as he did  at this moment, making off to some corner where he did acrostics endlessly, she did not feel merely snubbed back in her instinct, but made aware of the pettiness of some part of her, and of human relations, how flawed they are, how despicable, how self-seeking, at their best.
-To the Lighthouse

Was it not secretly this that she wanted, and therefore when Mr. Carmichael shrank away from her, as he did  at this moment, making off to some corner where he did acrostics endlessly, she did not feel merely snubbed back in her instinct, but made aware of the pettiness of some part of her, and of human relations, how flawed they are, how despicable, how self-seeking, at their best.

-To the Lighthouse

(Source: weheartit.com)

Reblogged from Flowers in my hair, demons in my head..