Post reblogged from Raxa-Caculhá with 1,057 notes
‘Sleeping Woman’. Oskar Kokoschka. 1917.
Photo reblogged from with 10,353 notes
Pleasant Dreams (1852). Henry Nelson O’Neil (1817-1880).
O'Neil (1817-1880) was a leading Victorian painter of historical scenes. He worked in a highly detailed and realistic style.
O'Neil studied art at the Royal Academy schools from 1836. He was a founder member of ‘The Clique’, a group of young artists who were dissatisfied with the restrictions of the Royal Academy and wanted to bring a new realism and emotional intensity to their work.
Post reblogged from Beb’s Art Gallery with 1,998 notes
Night in the Summer (1926)
— by Georg Janny
Post reblogged from Welcome with 15 notes
“As I read, I began to understand that all the great works wrangled with big questions, important questions: our place in the world, the value of our experience, the fairness and meaning of our suffering, our quest for love and belonging.
Phuc Tran “Sigh, Gone: A Misfit’s Memoir of Great Books, Punk Rock, and the Fight to Fit In”
Post reblogged from honey babe with 2,124 notes
He is not proud. I was wrong, I was entirely wrong about him. You don’t know him, Papa. If I told you what he’s really like, what he’s done.
PRIDE & PREJUDICE
2005, dir. Joe Wright
Post reblogged from Apprenons-nous de nos erreurs? with 9 notes
Dans la maison aux portes muettes,
vivent les ombres, les voix discrètes,
Des souvenirs aux gestes flous,
Des pas de brume, des silences fous.
Une fillette au cœur de cendre
Cherchait la clé pour tout comprendre,
Ses mains d’étoiles, ses yeux d’hiver,
Cueillaient la nuit sans en avoir l’air.
Un paravent de fleurs fanées
Masquait l’écho d’années troublées,
Mais sous le lit, dans les tiroirs,
Dormaient les cris, l’ancien miroir.
Un jour pourtant, la lampe danse,
Et l’âme prend une autre chance,
Elle voit clair, sans s’effrayer,
Même si tout vient vaciller.
Le ventre parle, les larmes coulent,
Le corps en tremble, la mémoire roule…
Mais dans ce chaos tout en creux,
Nait une force, un feu soyeux.
Elle avance lente, presque nue,
Dans un jardin d’herbes inconnues,
Où l’air est lourd, mais doux parfois,
Et chaque souffle devient une loi.
On dit qu’elle rêve ou qu’elle imagine,
Mais c’est sa peau qui dessine
Un sentier neuf, un chant discret,
Où l’on guérit sans oublier.
Post reblogged from Lucy with 5 notes
They ignored the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Pouring everything they had left into each other. Starved for a touch that was real and tangible.
Was love meant to be a choice?
Was it always supposed to be out of her hands? A freewill from a height far beyond what mortal eyes could see.Songs of the Wicked - C. A. Farran
Post reblogged from my heart, a feverish pomegranate with 28,942 notes
Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Instructions for Traveling West”
[Text ID: “you’re homesick / for all the lives / you’re not living.”]
Post reblogged from with 15,633 notes
the universe has a plan for you, even if you can’t see it yet.
Post reblogged from Lucy with 2 notes
‘What could I possibly have done to make you so angry?’
Darkness swarmed in his eyes. 'You feel loneliness and you lean on the first piece of shit who shows you any signs of affection.’
I ripped my hand away and shoved his chest. 'You don’t get to say that to me. You don’t get to have any opinion about who I do and do not lean on.’
'He doesn’t know you.’ Wolf’s chest rose and fell with every breath. 'He does not know how strong you are. Hell’s he thinks you’re a fragile doe, Huntress. What would he think if he saw you like this?’ His eyes grazed my body. 'Dripping in blood and fuming with hatred?’Wings So Wicked - Emily Blackwood
Page 1 of 8021