1872 - Claude Monet // Lilacs in the sun
1000scientists:

Robert PorazinskiField, 2013Oil on canvas, 48 x 60 in
wearenapoleon:

la cuisine by charlotte abramow.
At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
-
Caitlin Moran 

vvolare:

just laughing at some salad nbd

classic-art:

Wild Asters
Dennis Miller Bunker, 1889
everyday

no bra and surprise speed bumps
where is the justice

Sundays man
I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it.
-
Margaret Atwood
remembrane:

untitled by ast(a) on Flickr.
ABSURD


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