1,694 notes commovente:

“Just a few days after Nabokov’s death, there was an invasion of butterflies out in Springs, Long Island. It probably happens every year. But the reason I noticed the butterflies this time was the presence—or the absence—of Nabokov.
“While I was riding my bicycle, in fact, I had the pleasure of traveling with one of them: a monarch, one of those orange-and-black butterflies that migrate from Canada down to Mexico. It was right beside me, we were moving at the same speed, and the butterfly was at the same height as my head. The proximity of the butterfly transformed me into an airborne head, a cherub or a seraph, one of Raphael’s angels composed solely of a head and wings.”
—Saul Steinberg, from “Portraits and Landscapes”
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sun & moon 
transparent my edit
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Laura Glusman
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2,380 notes owls-love-tea:

Maruyama Okyo, Page from his Album of Sketches, ca. the 1770s
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1,762 notes "You happened to me.
You were as deep down as I’ve ever been.
You were inside me like my pulse."
Marilyn Hacker, from Nearly A Valediction  (via crystalpest)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via crystalpest)

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vamoose:

this picture makes me want to pounce

crying
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