It's All About The Smallest Things. The Smell Of Coffee And The Warm Feeling, When The Sunshine Touches

Martín Rico y Ortega (Spanish, 1833-1908)

Ca’ Rezzonico, Venezia

In films, we are voyeurs, but in novels, we have the experience of being someone else: knowing another person's soul from the inside. No other art form does that. And this is why sometimes, when we put down a book, we find ourselves slightly altered as human beings.

Donna Tartt

~I dance on the glass, we dance in each other's eyes and in the madness I push you away because you recognized the bitterness of my soul.~

in my mind Henry finished the translation of Paradise Lost and Richard found it in the glove compartment of Henry's car after his death

Richard Papen, while freezing in a fucking mandolin boutique during the rigid winter of Vermont: California dreamin'... (California... dreamin'...) on such a winter's day...

I’m at the “we’ll see” stage in my life. With everything and everyone. We will see.

don’t you love when you’re casually reading a random poem and suddenly come across a line that burrows into your bones and becomes the definition of your heart for the next 17 years

honestly henry winter

Hits hard darlings

characters whose philosophy is “if i cannot be wanted, i will be needed and if i cannot be needed, let me be used until there’s nothing left of me.” thank you for everyone’s attention. falls off stage and dies