pre-raphaelisme:

Moonbeams Dipping Into the Sea by Evelyn de Morgan, circa 1900.
❝ I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth.
— (via wadulisiwoman)

(via pada-viya)

Hello again - I never seem to come back entirely, just in little pieces. Got about three weeks of freedom (imprisonment, more like - can’t wait till uni resumes), so I’ll try to be here as much as I can. x

theanimalblog:

úti í haga (by Salbjörg Rita Jónsdóttir)
lauramakabresku:

The Hunger

The grave of opera singer Jane Margyl in Batignolles Cemetery, Paris. The appearance of blood stains is from fallen petals.
malformalady:

Swan recovering in a bath tub
❝ I couldn’t live where there were no trees — something vital in me would starve.
— L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams (via petrichour)

(Source: larmoyante, via snicket)