“Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.”
— Anais Nin
Where the sky and water meet,
Where the waves grow sweet,
Doubt not, Reepicheep, To find all you seek,
There is the utter east.
寿雪和高峻
Mary Oliver “Wild Geese” Bumper Sticker // CortHartle
“The first feminist gesture is to say: ‘OK, they’re looking at me. But I’m looking at them.’ The act of deciding to look, of deciding that the world is not defined by how people see me, but how I see them.”
— Agnès Varda
This is folk punk
