clmr
insomnia;
The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?

I am going to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in the galaxy.

2/9/14 with 23,928 notes source

etsy:

Galactic lollipops by VintageConfections.

etsy:

Galactic lollipops by VintageConfections.

2/9/14 with 136,579 notes source


In this picture from the early 1940s, travelers in California’s San Joaquin Valley gather owl’s clover and blue lupine in a field along Route 99.

In this picture from the early 1940s, travelers in California’s San Joaquin Valley gather owl’s clover and blue lupine in a field along Route 99.

2/9/14 with 156,877 notes source

acompletelife:

Heather Hawkins

acompletelife:

Heather Hawkins

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2/9/14 with 4,053 notes source

We obsess. It’s our nature. We turn on a track, around and around; we march in step; we act out the same tales, over and over, the same sets of motions, while time piles up like yarn under a wheel. We like patterns. They’re comforting. Sometimes little things change—a car instead of a house, a girl not named Yelena. But it’s no different, not really. Not ever.
— Deathless, Catherynne M. Valentr (via lovebookquotes)
2/9/14 with 157 notes source

The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.
— Neil deGrasse Tyson (via cynicsdream)
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