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Sophisticated Rebel

@toothpicard-blog / toothpicard-blog.tumblr.com

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I had misjudged that distancing myself a bit from Tumblr would benefit me, but it seems it wasn't an extreme enough operation. I've decided I'm going to take a large step back for awhile in order to reflect on myself. I'm disoriented with many things, so either I'll return to Tumblr one day or not at all - I'm not quite certain at this point. I'm being influenced in too many directions, so I reckon some soul searching is in order.

Thanks for the good time I did have here & I wish everyone the best.

Godspeed

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larmoyante
This is the history of fuck you for
making me soft, for making me maleable,
for doing more than just testing my waters,
fuck you for making the oceans of me
feel so puddle at the sight of you.
This is the history of my mattress,
that has seen more mistakes
than I am sober enough to remember.
This is another man’s neck
and your name whispered against it.
This is not forgetting. This is trying to.
This is not enough ways to give up
as I thought there would be, only the one
with your caller ID and a hangover.
This is the history of love.
This is a rare thing, a history
written by one who did not win.

Ramna Safeer, Written by the Winners (via larmoyante)

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They just don't write insults like they used to

Benedick: Will your grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on. I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia, bring you the length of Prester John’s foot, fetch you a hair off the great Cham’s beard, do you any embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy.
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Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O, let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

Sonnet 132, William Shakespeare (via dailyshakespeare)

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Anonymous asked:

Basically, you're one awesome dude. You're such an inspiration to me and to many others, I would assume. You've got a kind heart and a great sense of humor. I really love your ambition and your willingness to help others meet their own goals. You're a standup guy. xx

That's very kind, thank you. I'm typically oblivious to the result I have on people, so I appreciate you sharing :) !

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guardian

A lace bedspread is still on the bed, adorned with photographs and his feathered helmet. His moth-eaten military jacket hangs limply on a hanger. His chair, tucked under his desk, faces the window in the room where he was born on 10 October 1896.

A French soldier’s room has been left unchanged for 96 years since his death in the first world war. 

Photo: Bruno Mascle/Photoshot

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