Find Your Own Tree
Experimental. Influential. Intuitive. Joyful.
Find Your Own Tree
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τα ποιήματα στον δρόμο (Ν. Χουλιαράς)
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colin-vian:

  Frida Kahlo - Xochimilco, Mexico, 1937
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lenadarky:

Sebastian Luczywo
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laposhfuckery:

²
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"Gnossienne."
n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (via byzantines)
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aggelos-kai-daimonas:

Δεύτερη ζωή δεν έχει.
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 He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.

 He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.

 He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.
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Ἡ ζωή συνεχίζεται, δέν ὑπάρχουν θερινοί κινηματογράφοι στήν Εὐρώπη.
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"You love the accidental. A smile from a pretty girl in an interesting situation, a stolen glance, that is what you are hunting for, that is a motif for your aimless fantasy. You who always pride yourself on being an observateur must, in return, put up with becoming an object of observation. Ah, you are a strange fellow, one moment a child, the next an old man; one moment you are thinking most earnestly about the most important scholarly problems, how you will devote your life to them, and the next you are a lovesick fool."
Søren Kierkegaard, from Either/Or (via violentwavesofemotion)
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"I think of my suffering, of the problem of my suffering. What am I suffering from? From knowledge — is it going to destroy me? What am I suffering from? From sexuality — is it going to destroy me? How I hate it, this knowledge which forces even art to join it! How I hate it, this sensuality, which claims everything fine and good is its consequence and effect. Alas, it is the poison that lurks in everything fine and good! — How am I to free myself of knowledge? By religion? How am I to free myself of sexuality? By eating rice?"
Thomas Mann in Letter from Naples, Italy to Otto Grautoff (1896)