1. Winter is near
    By: nalurivera

    (Source: nalurivera, via deletingmyself)


  2. by Nirrimi

    (Source: azurea)


  3. (Source: turning-pointe)


  4. Childish Gambino - 3005 (SKULS RIP)

    (via innaudiblemelodiess)



  6. Kees Scherer

    The kiss - Paris 1956

    (Source: mimbeau, via modernhepburn)


  7. A victorious University of Mississippi player being kissed by a cheerleader after the Cotton Bowl (1956)

    (Source: vintagesportspictures, via socialsurvival)


  8. Jean Seberg and Jean-Paul Belmondo

    A bout de Souffle - Jean-Luc Godard

    Paris 1960

    (Source: mimbeau, via mimbeau)


  9. Maybe we don’t love life enough? Have you noticed that death alone awakens our feelings? How we love the friends who have just left us? How we admire those of our teachers who have ceased to speak, their mouths filled with earth! Then the expression of admiration springs forth naturally, that admiration they were perhaps expecting from us all their lives. But do you know why we are always more just and more generous toward the dead? The reason is simple. With them there is no obligation. They leave us free and we can take our time, fit testimonial in between a cocktail party and a nice little mistress, in our spare time, in short. If they forced us to anything, it would be to remembering, and we have a short memory. No, it is the recently dead we love among our friends, the painful dead, our emotion, ourselves after all!
    — Albert Camus, The Fall

    (Source: , via thatkindofwoman)




  12. I’ve been quite miserable. You’d call me selfish — but I feel it more and more; I feel the need to be alone with people who understand without having to try. I need that sense of effortlessness right there — I just refuse to hold back these days. I refuse to settle for some lucidity of mind in my own privacy and then no more energy left, no more vitality left to keep me going. It’s all anxiety and restlessness. And — I find it more and more hard to waste my time on people I don’t truly care about for I feel they don’t care enough either. Or they do care, in their own way, but it’s just not meaningful to me whatsoever. Does it all lie in my complete inability to receive? At any rate, I think they surely like the idea — that’s why they obviously keep coming around for tea! But at this point, I can’t have that — and there’s no point, really, for they don’t understand, ever, and in all my misery I am still pretty arrogant and demanding enough to believe that it is my right to wish to be felt rather than be understood but that doesn’t seem to happen either. So, here it is: is it possible? I ask. Is “emotion” possible without “understanding” of some sort?
    — Virginia Woolf, from Selected Letters 

    (Source: violentwavesofemotion, via thatkindofwoman)