(via castlekeys)
Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightening. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. My fingertips touch your blood. All my joy is to feel like spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours.
– Love letter from Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera (via fleurishes)
(via castlekeys)
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
– Pablo Neruda, Sublime (via castlekeys)
William Carlos Williams, “Landscape with The Fall of Icarus”
According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry
of the year was
awake tingling
near
the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself
sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings’ wax
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning
-
Brueghel’s painting
(source; submitted by the-high-yellow-note)
(Source: th1s1snottheend, via givemehardlove)
If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking
Of everything I have seen,
it’s you I want to go on seeing:
of everything I’ve touched,
it’s your flesh I want to go on touching.
I love your orange laughter.
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
it’s you I want to go on seeing:
of everything I’ve touched,
it’s your flesh I want to go on touching.
I love your orange laughter.
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
– Pablo Neruda (via youngfolksociety)
(Source: fernsandmoss, via youngfolksociety)
(Source: lifedelight, via depravityrules)
Douglas Adams quote illustrated by Britt Wilson :: via etsy.com
Etching by Attila Sassy (1880-1967) for his Opium Dreams, 1909
(Source: dreamobscura, via seasilked)




