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Instagram credit: abookandadream

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Warsan Shire, from “Backwards”, Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head

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Dear Diary, I’m not a believer. People are born, they grow old and then they die. That’s the world we live in. There’s no magic, no mysticism, no immortality. There is nothing that defies rational thought. People are supposed to be who they say they are and not lie or hide their true selves. It’s not possible. I’m not believer. I can’t be. But how can I deny what’s right in front of me? Someone who never grows old. Never gets hurt. Someone who changes in ways that can’t be explained. Girls bitten. Bodies drained of blood. The Vampire Diaries (Aired September 10th, 2009)

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I want to do things with my life but I also want to bury myself in a forest and let the moss grow over me so where does that leave us

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“Foggy days in Western Germany“ by | Robin Uthe

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by morganobrienart

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“Divine September, the moon wanes.”

— Pierre Jean Jouve, from Poems; “After The Flood,” written c. 1931

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Charlotte Brontë  — Jane Eyre

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oh, to drink hot chocolate on an old train steaming along the countryside

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living in the big stone cottage, spending time looking after the animals, working a lot in my garden, picking up flowers for my herbarium, and sitting near the river while reading historical novels

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Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), dir. Chris Columbus

That ain’t no ordinary cut on your forehead. A mark like that only comes from being touched by a curse, and an evil curse at that. Some say he died. Codswallop in my opinion. Nope, I reckon he’s still out there, too tired to carry on. But one thing’s certain, something about you stumped him that night. That’s why you’re famous, Harry, that’s why everybody knows your name. You’re the boy who lived.

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“She is safer if she does not speak too much, write too much, feel too much; and yet she is dying this way, she is gently dying on a bed of roses.”

— Michael Cunningham, from “The Hours,” originally published c. 1998

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Christian Dior / Spring 2020

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International Rose Test Garden, Portland  by Erin DeFuria

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Portrait of Wincenty Rapacki as Hamlet (1870) by Karol Miller (Polish, 1835-1920)

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Rumi, from Let the beauty we Love be what we Do: Poems: “Allow Yoursel To Care,”

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