September 29, 2014

(Source: gameofthronesdaily)

September 28, 2014

(Source: tatasmaslany)

September 28, 2014
nevver:

Talent

nevver:

Talent

(Source: twitter.com)

September 28, 2014

(Source: nekosbatmanblog, via sharkolympics)

September 28, 2014

"Caring strangers gave up their jackets, jumpers and scarves to help a young boy freezing at a bus stop in Norway.
The social experiment was set up by the SOS Mayday action network to raise awareness about the thousands of children suffering in war-torn Syria.It involved an 11-year-old boy – an actor – telling commuters his jacket had been stolen to see how they would react.
The group hopes the video inspires people to donate what they can to help children in Syria.”
(x)

(Source: valos-vampire-heart, via imafewnofamilytoo)

September 28, 2014

(Source: clonespiracy, via imafewnofamilytoo)

September 28, 2014
el-tango-de-roxanna:

4gifs:

[video]

Never have the words ‘unadulterated horror’ sprung to my mind so quickly

el-tango-de-roxanna:

4gifs:

[video]

Never have the words ‘unadulterated horror’ sprung to my mind so quickly

(Source: ForGIFs.om, via nevernotevenonce)

September 28, 2014

(Source: maliara, via lemoncranes)

September 28, 2014

oceanashenue:

so today my ap art history teacher was teaching us about Hapshetsut the only female pharaoh and he was like “have you seen women they can pop out a baby and be like alright let’s go” and then he walked over to this guy and aimed his fist towards his balls and the guy flinched and held his crotch so he was like “men may be stronger but women are tougher” and then he said “so when someone tells you to grow a pair, they mean ovaries”

(via imafewnofamilytoo)

September 28, 2014

ashlynharrris:

nobody hates glee more than people who have sincerely loved glee at some point in their lives

(Source: kacey-bellamy, via imafewnofamilytoo)

September 28, 2014
"Oscar Wilde said that if you know what you want to be, then you inevitably become it - that is your punishment, but if you never know, then you can be anything. There is a truth to that. We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing - an actor, a writer - I am a person who does things - I write, I act - and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun."

— Stephen Fry (via tra-ff-ic)

(via wertheyouth)

September 28, 2014

whistlings:

I would sit on my roof with you at 1 am and talk about the lives we dream of.

(via sharkolympics)

September 28, 2014
stilesstilinski37:

OMG

stilesstilinski37:

OMG

(via sharkolympics)

September 28, 2014

frailgrl:

credit to inkskinned for the quote. i just found this rly important and it’s something i need to remember.

(via inkskinned)

September 28, 2014
neil-gaiman:

brennanbookblog:

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman 
I saw Neil Gaiman a couple months ago at Carnegie Hall. We weren’t hanging out or anything.  He was reading his new book in front of a scrolling powerpoint of macabre sketches, accompanied by a four-piece string quartet.

From Australia.

Obviously.

That’s where I got my autographed copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which I promptly added to an already-teetering pile next to my bookshelf.

I’ve held off on including a Gaiman book here. I’m not sure why because I love Neverwhere and The Graveyard Book, and they equally deserve to be included, but until now I’m not sure I could justly describe the dark humanity that is endemic of Gaiman’s books.

Gaiman writes the stuff of nightmares, and I don’t mean the gruesome horror prevalent in every movie theatre within a five-mile radius. I mean, the real nightmares, the ones that are too sad, too frightening, and too harrowing to admit that we ourselves have -  because to do so would be to admit that we all only had one childhood, we all only have one life, and we are all going to die. The kind of nightmare that makes B movies look like distractions. 

“Harrowing” is a great term to start describing The Ocean at the End of the Lane. A man returns to his childhood home for a funeral, and finds himself reflecting on events of his youth as he sits by a pond behind the farm of his childhood friend. When my friend told me this synopsis, I quickly threw the book in a pile of those-yet-to-be-read and forgot about it. Because reading about a guy going to a funeral isn’t high on my list of interesting plotlines. Is the book about that? No, not at all. And in a way, it’s completely about that.

The book is scary, sure. But what makes it scary is not the dark. What makes it scary is the light. Gaiman, as an adult, writes with the preserved-innocence of a child. If we have forgotten the wonder, the imagination, and the helplessness of our youth, Gaiman has been remembering it for all of us. And it is this that he includes in his books. The Ocean at the End of the Lane is the story between childhood and adulthood. It’s a story that is too scary to remember but too important to forget.

It includes countless gems of childhood wisdom, of worry, of wonder like, “Adults take paths. Children explore.”

And at the end of the book, I’m not sure what just happened. Was it all true? Was it just the fantastical interpretation of a child? But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because Gaiman is still speaking to my very core when he writes: “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.”

And that, my friend, is my biggest nightmare of all.




The kind of reviews that make it worth writing.

neil-gaiman:

brennanbookblog:

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman 

I saw Neil Gaiman a couple months ago at Carnegie Hall. We weren’t hanging out or anything.  He was reading his new book in front of a scrolling powerpoint of macabre sketches, accompanied by a four-piece string quartet.
From Australia.
Obviously.
That’s where I got my autographed copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which I promptly added to an already-teetering pile next to my bookshelf.
I’ve held off on including a Gaiman book here. I’m not sure why because I love Neverwhere and The Graveyard Book, and they equally deserve to be included, but until now I’m not sure I could justly describe the dark humanity that is endemic of Gaiman’s books.
Gaiman writes the stuff of nightmares, and I don’t mean the gruesome horror prevalent in every movie theatre within a five-mile radius. I mean, the real nightmares, the ones that are too sad, too frightening, and too harrowing to admit that we ourselves have -  because to do so would be to admit that we all only had one childhood, we all only have one life, and we are all going to die. The kind of nightmare that makes B movies look like distractions. 
“Harrowing” is a great term to start describing The Ocean at the End of the Lane. A man returns to his childhood home for a funeral, and finds himself reflecting on events of his youth as he sits by a pond behind the farm of his childhood friend. When my friend told me this synopsis, I quickly threw the book in a pile of those-yet-to-be-read and forgot about it. Because reading about a guy going to a funeral isn’t high on my list of interesting plotlines. Is the book about that? No, not at all. And in a way, it’s completely about that.
The book is scary, sure. But what makes it scary is not the dark. What makes it scary is the light. Gaiman, as an adult, writes with the preserved-innocence of a child. If we have forgotten the wonder, the imagination, and the helplessness of our youth, Gaiman has been remembering it for all of us. And it is this that he includes in his books. The Ocean at the End of the Lane is the story between childhood and adulthood. It’s a story that is too scary to remember but too important to forget.
It includes countless gems of childhood wisdom, of worry, of wonder like, “Adults take paths. Children explore.”
And at the end of the book, I’m not sure what just happened. Was it all true? Was it just the fantastical interpretation of a child? But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because Gaiman is still speaking to my very core when he writes: “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.”
And that, my friend, is my biggest nightmare of all.

The kind of reviews that make it worth writing.