th3eve

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+32 misc/aesthetic icons — please like or reblog if you take any

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Tiaras that once belonged to mary, Duchess of Roxburghe 

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Bande à part (1964) dir. Jean-Luc Godard

The Dreamers (2003) dir. Bernardo Bertolucci

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Adults follow paths. Children explore.

Neil Gaiman (via thepersonalwords)

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If our past selves got a glimpse of us now, what would they make of us?

Nina LaCour, We Are Okay (via youngadultquoted)

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The only problem with seeing too much is that it makes you insane.

Plato, Phaedrus (via fyp-philosophy)

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BLACKLUNG by Keaton St. James

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You know what’s weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change, but pretty soon everything’s different.

Bill Watterson (via quotemadness)

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I’m not here to be a beautiful thing. I’m here to create beautiful, important, meaningful things.

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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.

Sylvia Plath (via thequotejournals)

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Working hard for something we don’t care about is called stress; working hard for something we love is called passion.

Simon Sinek (via thequotejournals)

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What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via bookmania)

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There are all these moments you don’t think you will survive. And then you survive.

David Levithan, Two Boys Kissing (via wnq-anonymous)

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We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

Anaïs Nin , The Diary of Anaïs Nin Vol. 4 (1971)

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There was a house we all had in common and it was called the past, even though we’d lived in different rooms.

Angela Carter, Wise Children (via viperslang)

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My favorite means of communication is otherworldly: dreams—meeting in dreams.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Boris Pasternak featured in “A Russian Psyche: The Poetic Mind of Marina Tsvetaeva” (via violentwavesofemotion)