1. 06:53 17th Oct 2014

    Notes: 24912

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.
    — Sylvia Plath (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

    (Source: loveyourchaos)

     
  2. 06:49

    Notes: 56924

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.
    — F. Scott Fitzgerald, A New Leaf   (via yesdarlingido)

    (Source: fitzgeraldquotes)

     
  3. 06:47

    Notes: 649

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    livingpierside:

The sun shines for everyone  By David Olkarny

    livingpierside:

    The sun shines for everyone  By David Olkarny

    (Source: mystic-revelations)

     
  4. 06:45

    Notes: 4563

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    (Source: jazzafari)

     
  5. 06:44

    Notes: 4017

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    .:That thing that you do, after your day job, in your free time, too early in the morning, too late at night. That thing you read about, write about, think about, in fact fantasize about. That thing you do when you’re all alone and there’s no one to impress, nothing to prove, no money to be made, simply a passion to pursue. That’s it. That’s your thing. That’s your heart, your guide. That’s the thing you must, must do:.
     
  6. 06:43

    Notes: 29319

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    Travel is little beds and cramped bathrooms. It’s old television sets and slow Internet connections. Travel is extraordinary conversations with ordinary people. It’s waiters, gas station attendants, and housekeepers becoming the most interesting people in the world. It’s churches that are compelling enough to enter. It’s McDonald’s being a luxury. It’s the realization that you may have been born in the wrong country. Travel is a smile that leads to a conversation in broken English. It’s the epiphany that pretty girls smile the same way all over the world. Travel is tipping 10% and being embraced for it. Travel is the same white T-shirt again tomorrow. Travel is accented sex after good wine and too many unfiltered cigarettes. Travel is flowing in the back of a bus with giggly strangers. It’s a street full of bearded backpackers looking down at maps. Travel is wishing for one more bite of whatever that just was. It’s the rediscovery of walking somewhere. It’s sharing a bottle of liquor on an overnight train with a new friend. Travel is ‘Maybe I don’t have to do it that way when I get back home.
    — Nick Miller, Isn’t It Pretty to Think So? (via ethereally)

    (Source: clemonte)

     
  7. 06:41

    Notes: 368

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    m-as-tu-vu:

I was.. I am .. I wiLL ..*

    m-as-tu-vu:

    I was.. I am .. I wiLL ..*

    (Source: facebook.com)

     
  8. 06:40

    Notes: 48727

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

     
  9. 06:38

    Notes: 208991

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    If I were really really ridiculously wealthy, I wouldn’t buy a mansion, just tiny apartments in every city I love.
    — Mara Wilson (via thedapperproject)

    (Source: du-bonheur-et-rien-d-autre)

     
  10. 06:37

    Notes: 150305

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    (Source: greetings)

     
  11. 06:36

    Notes: 6351

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    (Source: primaivy)

     
  12. 06:35

    Notes: 694

    Reblogged from wanderlustandstars

    To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
    — Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
    (via ughpoems)
     
  13. 00:28 15th Oct 2014

    Notes: 566

    Reblogged from thefullerview

    image: Download

    thefullerview:

(via Manor House | f u r r y - f r i e n d s | Pinterest)
     
  14. 00:18

    Notes: 29704

    Reblogged from thefullerview

    (Source: juliendouvier)

     
  15. 00:10

    Notes: 54

    Reblogged from thefullerview

    image: Download

    thefullerview:

Chat (by sylvieaa)