Latest Posts by alexandraksidi - Page 8

when i grow up i want to be unexplainable phenomena

Why do cats hate me so much it's heartbreaking I am literally ready to get hit by a truck for them anytime

does anyone feel the layer of plexiglass between themselves and the rest of the world or is that just a me thing

I just read “each time you open a book and read, a tree smiles knowing there's life after death”and OH MY GOD

I’m fine

just because someone can articulate their point better doesn’t make them right, it makes them articulated. 

I used to be really against marking up books and would clutch at my pearls anytime a book was damaged in anyway but now I see it as another way to express love. Water stains on the cover means you carried your favorite book through the rain because you wanted to keep reading on the go. Writing in the margins is participating in the conversation with the author. Leaving bookmarks and receipts in between the pages is like freezing traces of your own life in time.

A well worn book is a well loved one.

🇵🇸🍉 Free Palestine 🍉🇵🇸

You should be able to redo your vote on a tumblr poll. I'm haunted by my misclicks

im so popular my post got 5 entire likes

"Do not ask to find here a statement or a theory. Pay attention only to the internal story of a sincere life, a long life, fecund in happy and sad moments, not without contradictions. A life full of illusions, but that is always trying , not reaching the unapproachable truth, to reach the harmony of the spirit, which is our ultimate truth."

Romain Rolland's note for his book "An enchanted soul" August 1922

Little hand embroidered beetle brooches, with hand stitched wings hiding under wing covers.

Fluffy boi, the mighty Cerberus. I hope my mythology obsession doesn't show much

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

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