Lux ex tenebris


Grace / 17 / Scotland

"i am singing now while Rome burns
We are all just trying to be holy"


It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.
—Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain (via lhommerevoltee)

(Source: divine-despair)

distortedfoxes:

Steve McCurry

distortedfoxes:

Steve McCurry

(Source: ezraboning)

Recommend me something good to watch on Netflix because hey it’s only eleven and time is a bourgeoise artifice anyway right

youngmarxist:

So if we have to show women what the baby looks like in their womb and tell them how the process works before allowing them to get an abortion, does that mean we should teach our soldiers about the culture of the lands we’re invading, and explain to them that the people we want them to kill have families and feel pain, just like Americans?

drawpaintprint:

Francis Bacon, “Triptych - In memory of George Dyer” (1971)

drawpaintprint:

Francis Bacon, “Triptych - In memory of George Dyer” (1971)

unbloom:

Camilla Engman

unbloom:

Camilla Engman

update: feel like condensation on a window feel like a corsage left in the street after a dance i miss everyone i’ve never met

(Source: speakingparts)

We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.
—The Drums (via resolutionist)

(Source: anomalouswanderer)

everythingexceptrapandcountry:

don’t talk to boys who aren’t nice to their mothers

versvcx:

you’re important to me you piece of shit

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dirge Without Music

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night