Just as in dreams
when the nightly spell of sleep falls heavy on our eyes
and we seem entranced by longing to keep racing on,
no use, in the midst of one last burst of speed
we sink down, consumed, our tongues won’t work,
and tried and true, the power that filled our body
fails- we strain but the voice and the words won’t follow.

Virgil, The Aeneid (via wandery)

setbabiesonfire:

Future tattoo, this line. I love NMH.

eatsleepstrokesrepeat:

not sorry




jenson:3

But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn’t it?
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore  (via obdormio)

(Source: anec-dotes)


4doors:

 (by as young as yesterday)





nikolawashere:

Joint by Me, Nikola Pavlinovic.

Theme made by Max davis.