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AMAZING.
(Source: heathledgers, via welcome-to-my-wonderland-blog)
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I am like you. You cannot love either, otherwise how could you practice love as an art? Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can-that is their secret.
— Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse -
(Source: pagesixlove, via lifesaplay)
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Like a player who plays with his ball, he played with his business, with the people around him, watched them, derived amusement from then; but with his hearty, with his real nature, he was not there. His real self wandered elsewhere, far away, wandered on and on invisibly and had nothing to do with his life.
— Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse -
Drinking deep in a beautiful place.
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Le métro de Philadelphie.
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We look crazy, but we had such a thrill.
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These are our days.
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Flower child.
(Source: the-m00n-told-me-so, via just-a-t0uch)
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What a vision.
(Source: mona-kahlo, via sofacity)
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My new kitchen.
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I’m moving to Connecticut on Sunday.
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I’ll be living in a picketed white house, neighboring other gently brilliant gems of Mid-Atlantic history.
We’ll have porches and studios full of sun coming in through filtered windows, bubbles warping the straight beams, warming us with yellow smiles.
We’ll have oatmeal and matcha while we watch the sun rise and hear our coffee chirp and the bees hum in lazy streams.
I’ll show you orange blossom flowers in the corner of my gas stove, nestled in a field of golden chestnut grass. Buses go by, and travelers disembark to taste the brew, share quiet smiles, and return to the road of dusty warmth.
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Jacques Brel talks about idleness [english subtitles]
This man. One of my favorites.
