likeafieldmouse:

Elena Chernyshova - Awaiting Movement 

ieg:

untitled by frisch on Flickr.

sloppy:

Ramona Deckers

(Source: visionate)

Feelings are like water, they always adapt to their surroundings. Not even the worst grief leaves traces; when it feels so overwhelming and lasts for such a long time, it is not because the feelings have set, they can’t do that, they stand still, the way water in a forest stands still.
— My Struggle vol. 1, Knausgaard (via kelsfjord)
Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (via larmoyante)
I don’t chase anyone anymore. Wanna walk out of my life, there’s the door. Hell, I’ll even hold it for you.
— (via lunardemons)

(Source: justbetweenteens)

mendenlama:

From Sisters Liberty (Сестрички Либерти, 1990) directed by Vladimir Grammatikov

(Source: russian-and-soviet-cinema)

moviesincolor:

Request Week - (smackfest)
Fight Club, 1999
Cinematography: Jeff Cronenweth

heptagram:

Andrés Vélez

(Source: dystrophobia)

The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.
— Vladimir Nabokov (via gioia-e-design)

readingismyfavorite:

“‘First of all, dismiss ideas, and social background, and train the freshman to shiver, to get drunk on the poetry of Hamlet or Lear, to read with his spine and not with his skull.’”

Pale Fire, Vladimir Nabokov

Listen: I am ideally happy. My happiness is a kind of challenge. As I wander along the streets and the squares and the paths by the canal, absently sensing the lips of dampness through my worn soles, I carry proudly my ineffable happiness. The centuries will roll by, and schoolboys will yawn over the history of our upheavals; everything will pass, but my happiness, dear, my happiness will remain, in the moist reflection of a streetlamp, in the cautious bend of stone steps that descend into the canal’s black waters, in the smiles of a dancing couple, in everything with which God so generously surrounds human lonliness.
— Vladimir Nabokov, A Letter That Never Reached Russia (via larmoyante)

Günter Brus_Aktion Ana_1964 

(Source: sulphuriclike)