(Source: szshap, via brittanickel)
environment, color study of Barbara Jones’ photo.
I just want to sit on one of those rocks and stare, the colors are so intoxicating
A poetic homage to holometabolism, the process by which a caterpillar metamorphoses into a butterfly, part of biologist Joanna Tilsley’s wonderful “quantum poetry” series celebrating science.
(Source: explore-blog, via whatsaybeauty)
Vintage Melbourne Olympics souvenir scarf, 1956
(via Getty Images)
(Source: noperfectdayforbananafish, via kvtes)
(Source: dailydoseofstuf, via organized-clutter)
(Source: ephe, via cubiclerefugee)
Nowadays the princesses all know kung fu, and yet they’re still the same princesses. They’re still love interests, still the one girl in a team of five boys, and they’re all kind of the same. They march on screen, punch someone to show how they don’t take no shit, throw around a couple of one-liners or forcibly kiss someone because getting consent is for wimps, and then with ladylike discretion they back out of the narrative’s way.
On the posters they’re posed way in the back of the shot behind the men, in the trailers they may pout or smile or kick things, but they remain silent. Their strength lets them, briefly, dominate bystanders but never dominate the plot. It’s an anodyne, a sop, a Trojan Horse - it’s there to distract and confuse you, so you forget to ask for more. — Sophia McDougall (via feministquotes)
[A novel is] a paper where your thesis is that these people are real, and you have to prove it. — Maggie Stiefvater (via beingascripturient)
(Source: m-stiefvater.livejournal.com, via yahighway)
My solitude doesn’t depend on the presence or absence of people; on the contrary, I hate who steals my solitude without, in exchange, offering me true company. — Friedrich Nietzsche (via rainydaysandblankets)
(Source: waxandmoss, via kvtes)