the word sanctuary


"If the only thing keeping a person decent is the expectation of divine reward then, brother, that person is a piece of shit. And I’d like to get as many of them out in the open as possible. You gotta get together and tell yourself stories that violate every law of the universe just to get through the goddamn day? What’s that say about your reality?"


“We say that Amour vincit omnia but in truth love conquers nothing—certainly not death—certainly not chance. What love does is to arm. It arms the worth of life in spite of life.””

Archibald MacLeish

(Source: apoetreflects, via lapetitemandarine)

The medicine of words—medicina verbi. by Anna Kamienska, from “A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook”, trans. Clare Cavanagh (via litverve)

(via tierradentro)

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. by Pablo Picasso  (via womenlikeher)

(Source: observando, via womenlikeher)

She was dark, full bodied and aged to perfection with an earthy robust flavor and a touch of spice. Once opened, she needed to breath to enjoy to her wonderful bouquet and smooth finish. Like any good wine, she lingered on the tongue and went down beautifully. by A New Renaissance Man
(via girlinlondon)

(Source: anewrenaissanceman, via girlinlondon)

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage. by e.e. cummings  (via le-dilemme)

(Source: psych-facts, via le-dilemme)

Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. by Allen Ginsberg (via pre-raphaelites)

(Source: seabois, via pre-raphaelites)

Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow , for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something. by Kurt Vonnegut (via munkstrap)

(Source: thecompleteillustrated, via easternism)

I would like to paint the way a bird sings. by Claude Monet  (via petrichour)

(Source: claudemonet-art, via petrichour)

Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we’d be truly dead. by Joss Whedon (via seabois)

(via seabois)

The mind self-edits. The mind airbrushes. It’s a different thing to be inside a body than outside. From outside, you can look, inspect, compare. From inside there is no comparison. by Jeffrey Eugenides || Middlesex (via socratic-thinker)

(Source:, via bluescreenedlife)


“What moon will gather up
your sorrow of lime and oleander?”

— Federico García Lorca, Collected Poems

(Source: theperfumemaker, via mercurieux)

A tragedy, when a mature mind and a romantic heart are in the same body. by (via lovely—delight)

(Source: nizariat, via lovely--delight)

There are a few things in life so beautiful they hurt: swimming in the ocean while it rains, reading alone in empty libraries, the sea of stars that appear when you’re miles away from the neon lights of the city, bars after 2am, walking in the wilderness, all the phases of the moon, the things we do not know about the universe, and you. by Beau Taplin || and you.  (via seulray)

(Source: afadthatlastsforever, via ladygoldenhair)

We are mosaics. Pieces of light, love, history, stars… Glued together with magic and music and words. by Anita Krizzan  (via lovely—delight)

(Source: quotethat, via lovely--delight)