A Turtle's Salon du The

Ferlinghetti.

(Source: prchtshrk, via grammatolatry)

nevver:

Happy Mothers Day

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

RIP MCA - and thanks for the brouhaha.

heyoscarwilde:

“You must tell the truth about a subject to a child as well as you are able without any mitigating of that truth. You must allow that children are small, courageous people who deal every day with a multitude of problems, just as adults do, and that they are unprepared for most things. What they yearn for most is a bit of truth somewhere.” - Maurice Sendak

preliminary drawing of Max from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak circa 1963 :: scanned from The Art of Maurice Sendak :: Abrams Books :: 2003

nevver:

Novel Tea

nevver:

The Official Hipster Survival Guide to New York City

"April is the cruellest month…"

— T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land (via proustitute)

"It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes."

— Gustave Flaubert (with thanks to whiskeyriver)

feathery:

First geological map of Patagonia drawn and colour-painted by Darwin, around 1840

(Source: scipsy, via awelltraveledwoman)

"Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within. The world was outside of him, around him, before him, and the speed with which it kept changing made it impossible for him to dwell on any one thing for very long. Motion was of the essence, the act of putting one foot in front of the other and allowing himself to follow the drift of his own body. By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal, and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere. And this, finally, was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere."

— Paul Auster, City of Glass (Thank you, liquidnight)

(via crashinglybeautiful)

find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you... now tell me about hundreds of things -saki

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