B, Just Forget About It

Hello, Here I will be.
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You’re told that you’re in your head too much, a phrase that’s often deployed against the quiet and cerebral. Or maybe there’s another word for such people: thinkers.

Susan Cain, Quiet (via larmoyante)

The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.

Dr. Seuss (via like-wildfire)

(Source: observando, via like-wildfire)

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata (via misswallflower)

(via josjon)

unhistorical:

Gabriel García Márquez Dead: Nobel Prize-Winning Author Dies At 87 (TIMENew York Times)

Colombian Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez was the author of One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967), Autumn of the Patriarch (1975), Love in the Time of Cholera (1985), in addition to many other novels, short stories, and non-fiction works. In 1982 he received the Nobel Prize in Literature for “his novels and short stories, in which the fantastic and the realistic are combined in a richly composed world of imagination, reflecting a continent’s life and conflicts.” García Márquez, only the fourth of six Latin Americans to be awarded the literature prize since its inception in 1901, lamented: “they have taken into account the literature of the sub-continent and have awarded me as a way of awarding all of this literature.” In his acceptance speech, entitled “The Solitude of Latin America”, García Márquez addressed the postcolonial struggles of Latin American nations, and the willing embrace by European institutions of Latin American cultural expression but not its social realities:

Latin America neither wants, nor has any reason, to be a pawn without a will of its own; nor is it merely wishful thinking that its quest for independence and originality should become a Western aspiration. However, the navigational advances that have narrowed such distances between our Americas and Europe seem, conversely, to have accentuated our cultural remoteness. Why is the originality so readily granted us in literature so mistrustfully denied us in our difficult attempts at social change? Why think that the social justice sought by progressive Europeans for their own countries cannot also be a goal for Latin America, with different methods for dissimilar conditions? 

(via missavagardner)

My cousin Helen, who is in her 90s now, was in the Warsaw ghetto during World War II. She and a bunch of the girls in the ghetto had to do sewing each day. And if you were found with a book, it was an automatic death penalty. She had gotten hold of a copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’, and she would take three or four hours out of her sleeping time each night to read. And then, during the hour or so when they were sewing the next day, she would tell them all the story. These girls were risking certain death for a story. And when she told me that story herself, it actually made what I do feel more important. Because giving people stories is not a luxury. It’s actually one of the things that you live and die for.

 Neil Gaiman  (via jamered)

(Source: lupanthropy, via jamered)

(Source: liquidlucids, via einiw)

I dreamed that we woke up.

Six word story (via holeintheuniverse)

(Source: hotarutomato, via keshiayayaya)

yatzer:

Jean Patchett in evening gown by Jean Dessès from his Spring collection, photo by Norman Parkinson for Vogue, 1950.

yatzer:

Jean Patchett in evening gown by Jean Dessès from his Spring collection, photo by Norman Parkinson for Vogue, 1950.

(via holeintheuniverse)