&

At that moment I was sure. That I belonged in my skin. That my organs were mine and my eyes were mine and my ears, which could only hear the silence of this night and my faint breathing, were mine, and I loved them and what they could do. Dave Eggers (via larmoyante)

(via andthestarsneverrise)

(Source: lush-retina, via unjourtotoutard)

secretsthatsell:

pineapplie:

want

my weekend plans.

(Source: nancywiskey)

(Source: verleugnung, via secretsthatsell)

London underground during the war, 1941.

(Source: hetasdames, via theabyssaldark)

(Source: karachitonewyork, via imagefree)

(Source: gg-ll, via thestrongestofthestrange)

Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. Oscar Wilde (via moonietonks)

(Source: incisio, via moonietonks)

something-nakey:

© Sante D’ Orazio, Kristen McMenamy, 1986

(Source: zeigarnik, via secretsthatsell)

(Source: leilockheart, via dodangerousthings)

ex0skeletal:

Jules Cloquet / Haincelin

(via commentators)

Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (via wrists)