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poweredbyplantscr:

• Go Ⓥegan •

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Reposted bylighter lighter
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highcarb-vegan:

go vegan  ॐ

Reposted bykashkash kashkash
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justcutecows:

Please ditch dairy. Every baby deserves the chance to feel this. Motherly love. ❤️

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Reposted bykashkashbansheAtarilalunakillmetantalumHypothermiaDagarhenlittlewhitelieskittiesmamapassingbirdCarrionmakrosDas-huepfende-KommagruetzePewPowCarridwensecalecornutuumsucznik1911nothingiseverythingvogelInsomniaNervosakajajajashowmetherainbowdanoniskokittiesmamaposiputtrandoomtomashlubisztosukostrzepygreenskyAnetzschkaabldrozdziLunarLitePolindaRedPennymyrlav2pxZuruisonozakidesugrizzlychickenkoszmarekkinamolotovcupcaked6286jazonanythingablvagrant3Zoonk11asparaguskartofelrobaczeksiostrzycaundoneezuckerentewhizzkidmanticorebercikki-adiPaseroViruskonififfeynowezsienoinacokoteckeblubrapannakojotmyleegrohzkapustomLEHAPPYLadykwa
Sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I wonder whether I’ve lived at all. Is it the same for everybody? Do some people have a greater talent for living than others or do some people never live, but just exist?
— Autumn Sonata (1978), Ingmar Bergman
(via thequotejournals)
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delta-breezes:

Alex Bailey | @alexbaileypdx

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throes-of-redemption:

afishhook-anopeneye:

my name is cow
and wen she sits
benethe the stall
withe tiny kit

I hav no hands
withe which to pat
I use mye tung
I lik the cat

my name is cat
and with tha kit
In front of stall
we lyk to sit

I feel her tongue
I say meow
I have a fren
Her name is cow

Reposted bydamnare damnare
I make myself rich by making my wants few.
— Henry David Thoreau (via quotemadness)
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lecataste:

Henry David Thoreau | Elevating Ourselves: Thoreau on Mountains | 1999

Reposted byopheliacthesilenceofthealcoholicfelickamalajnainakashkash
Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen.
Anaxagoras
(via fyp-philosophy)
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Reposted bypati2k6kashkash
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barcarole:

A fragment of Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No.7, Op.64.  

Reposted byfokajednooka fokajednooka
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flashofgod:

Jill Freedman, From Fiddler’s Light, 1974.

Reposted byeffic effic
I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
Friedrich Nietzsche  (via iopanosiris)
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
T. S. Eliot
(via thequotejournals)
Reposted byopheliacpannakies
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