Early settlers lose.

Birmingham University blog over at circa1815.tumblr.com

 

The Invitation by Oriah

ajabonitaaa:

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of…

This happens quite a lot under pedestrian bridges back home but never this pretty.
humansofnewyork:

Flash Flood 

This happens quite a lot under pedestrian bridges back home but never this pretty.

humansofnewyork:

Flash Flood 

humansofnewyork:

"Are you married or dating?" “We’re married. And we’re on a date.”

humansofnewyork:

"Are you married or dating?"
“We’re married. And we’re on a date.”

Bill Cunningham on dressing for a heat wave: "The fashion in New York holds its own. People don’t give up and jump into effortless t-shirts […] They’re not gonna give it up in the heat of summer—not on your life!"

Bill Cunningham on dressing for a heat wave: "The fashion in New York holds its own. People don’t give up and jump into effortless t-shirts […] They’re not gonna give it up in the heat of summer—not on your life!"

"I was very left when I was his age too but I was never a communist.  I couldn’t share a bathroom."
Woody Allen, To Rome with Love

"I was very left when I was his age too but I was never a communist.  I couldn’t share a bathroom."

Woody Allen, To Rome with Love

"It’s only awkward because you want it to be."

"It’s only awkward because you want it to be."

Love cheesy french perfume ads

In this world where every object was thrown away at the slightest sign of breakage or aging, at the first dent or stain, and replaced with a new and perfect substitute, there was just one false note, one shadow: the moon. It wandered through the sky naked, corroded, and gray, more and more alien to the world down here, a hangover from a way of being that was now outdated.
Fiction Podcast: Robert Coover Reads Italo Calvino’s ‘The Daughters of the Moon' : The New Yorker

In this world where every object was thrown away at the slightest sign of breakage or aging, at the first dent or stain, and replaced with a new and perfect substitute, there was just one false note, one shadow: the moon. It wandered through the sky naked, corroded, and gray, more and more alien to the world down here, a hangover from a way of being that was now outdated.

Fiction Podcast: Robert Coover Reads Italo Calvino’s ‘The Daughters of the Moon' : The New Yorker

Chapter Three

‘You’re a rotten driver,’ I protested. ‘Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn’t to drive at all.’

'I am careful.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Well, other people are,’ she said lightly.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘They’ll keep out of my way,’ she insisted. ‘It takes two to make an accident.’

‘Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.’

‘I hope I never will,’ she answered. ‘I hate careless people. That’s why I like you.’

White House Correspondents Dinner

Obama: I admire CNN’s commitment to cover all sides of the story...

Obama: ...just in case one side is accurate!