(via fime)
And now my Monday just got that much better!
Black is not sad. Bright colors are what depresses me. They’re so… empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.
— Ann Demeulemeester (via calmlikeahurricane)
(Source: dailydoseofstuf, via ayujaded)
(via sophisticat3d)
(via thingssheloves)
My heart is a thousand years old. I am not like other people.
—Charles Bukowski (via mrzim)
(Source: dreamsoncrutches, via itsnotafairytale-onthecontrary)
(via thingssheloves)
(Source: jhawthorne, via annnniegirl)
‘My God,’ he gasped, ‘you’re fun to kiss.’
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night (via dulcetdecember)
(Source: man-of-prose, via climbinmyboughs)
Time for solitude. God, I ask you to remake my heart. Fill it with what You love. Remove from it what You don’t. And mend what I’ve broken.
—Yasmin Mogahed (via haditsriwayat)
(via love-sabz)
“Even when she walks one would believe that she dances.”
— Charles Baudelaire
(Source: apoetreflects, via secretestsoul)
(via thingssheloves)
