April 23rd, 2014

interinsanity:

neonxwhales:

mediclopedia:

Some of the ways our organs communicate with each other… This is scientifically correct.

I’m laughing so hard omg poor gall bladder

(via the-adventures-of-captain-comic)

April 21st, 2014
When you start to know someone, all their physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell in their energy, recognize the scent of their skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That’s why you can’t fall in love with beauty. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and your body but not your heart. And that’s why, when you really connect with a person’s inner self, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant.
Lisa UngerBeautiful Lies (via psych-facts)
christopherpoindexter:

The Universe and Her, and I poem #225 written by Christopher Poindexter

christopherpoindexter:

The Universe and Her, and I poem #225 written by Christopher Poindexter

bookshavepores:

cats’ tails make for great bookmarks, yo

bookshavepores:

cats’ tails make for great bookmarks, yo

lovequotesrus:

Everything you love is here

lovequotesrus:

Everything you love is here

(Source: dontworry-drinksometea)

April 20th, 2014
mydianagarcia:

Read “The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield” on #wattpad #romance #quote http://w.tt/1i1swMZ

mydianagarcia:

Read “The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield” on #wattpad #romance #quote http://w.tt/1i1swMZ

bubblecxy:

Try to imagine a life without timekeeping. You probably can’t. You know the month, the year, the day of the week. There is a clock on your wall or the dashboard of your car. You have a schedule, a calendar, a time for dinner or a movie. Yet all around you, timekeeping is ignored. Birds are not…

Sleep my little baby-oh
Sleep until you waken
When you wake you’ll see the world
If I’m not mistaken…

Kiss a lover
Dance a measure,
Find your name
And buried treasure…

Face your life
Its pain,
Its pleasure,
Leave no path untaken.

Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book (via observando)

(Source: caruto, via plasticpixie)

There are many ways that our mind protects us from present and past horrors. One way is by allowing us to forget. Forgetting is a constant fear in any writer’s life. For the immigrant writer, far from home, memory becomes an even deeper abyss. It is as if we had been forced to step under the notorious forgetting trees, the sabliyes, that our slave ancestors were told would remove their past from their heads and dull their desire to return home. We know we must pass under the tree, but we hold our breath and cross our fingers and toes and hope that the forgetting will not penetrate too deeply into our brains.

But what happens when we cannot tell our own stories, when our memories have temporarily abandoned us? What is left is longing for something we are not even sure we ever had but are certain we will never experience again.
Edwidge Danticat, Create Dangerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work (via coyotegold)

(Source: susurrations, via langleav)

(Source: prince-doran)

April 19th, 2014