And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Photo reblogged from Occupy* Posters, Protest Signs, and Banners with 72 notes
Internet Illiterates Making Internet Law
Author’s note: I created this in attempt to convey what appears to be the principle concern and rallying point among Occupy movements concerning Internet Blacklist legislation. I hope the ability to campaign for Congress opens more broadly to diverse concerned citizens without them having to first sell their souls and votes to private monied interests. Our very democracy depends upon it.
Wear this sign:
Source: owsposters
Everything that goes into my mouth seems to make me fat, everything that comes out of my mouth embarrasses me.
— ―Gabriel García Márquez
No matter what you do this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.
— ― Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores
I would prove to the men how mistaken they are in thinking that they no longer
fall in love when they grow old—not knowing that they grow old when they stop
falling in love.
— ― Gabriel García Márquez
Quote with 28 notes
I don’t know you. The only thing I know about you is, you’re reading this. I don’t know if your happy or not; I don’t know whether you’re young or not. I sort of hope you’re young and sad. If you’re old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll smile to yourself when you hear me going, he broke my heart. You’ll remember someone who broke your heart, and you’ll think to yourself, Oh yes, i remember how that feels. But you can’t, you smug old git. Oh you’ll remember feeling sort of pleasantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again?
— Hornby, A Long Way Down
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