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a) My name is Marie and I'm a wallflower.
b) 24 years old.
c) From Georgia (country, not a state).
d) "“I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious.”- Albert Einstein
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Posts tagged with "personal"

my autumn evening - eating roasted chestnuts, drinking yummy tea and being bundled up under a big, trusty old blanket - everything is right with world, even if it’s just till the morning.

my autumn evening - eating roasted chestnuts, drinking yummy tea and being bundled up under a big, trusty old blanket - everything is right with world, even if it’s just till the morning.

Oct 21 '14 · Tagged personal,
flyartproductions:

Marat State of Mind
The Death of Marat, Jacques-Louis David (1793) / N.Y. State of Mind, NaS

flyartproductions:

Marat State of Mind

The Death of Marat, Jacques-Louis David (1793) / N.Y. State of Mind, NaS

Autumn never fails to bring out in me this acute sense of loneliness, of yearning, of nostalgia for something I have yet to experience. Spring is happy, summer is fun, but autumn, autumn always makes me feel so damn bittersweet. 

Oct 5 '14 · Tagged personal,
Oct 1 '14 · Tagged personal,

rachellanders:

wouldnt it be cool to just like not feel nervous about everything all the time

(Source: lesbolution)

bestrawberry:

Misswallflower and I

bestrawberry:

Misswallflower and I

Sep 2 '14 · via bestrawberry · Tagged personal,
It’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Days I enjoy are days when nothing happens,
When I have no engagements written on my block,
When no one comes to disturb my inward peace,
When no one comes to take me away from myself
And turn me into a patchwork, a jig-saw puzzle,
A broken mirror that once gave a whole reflection,
Being so contrived that it takes too long a time
To get myself back to myself when they have gone.
Vita Sackville-West
Our friends, how seldom visited, how little known — it is true; and yet, when I meet an unknown person, and try to break off, here at this table, what I call “my life”, it is not one life that I look back upon; I am not one person; I am many people; I do not altogether know who I am — Jinny, Susan, Neville, Rhoda, or Louis; or how to distinguish my life from theirs.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Introversion — along with its cousins sensitivity, seriousness, and shyness — is now a second- class personality trait, somewhere between a disappointment and a pathology. Introverts living under the Extrovert Ideal are like women in a man’s world, discounted because of a trait that goes to the core of who they are. Extroversion is an enormously appealing personality style, but we’ve turned it into an oppressive standard to which most of us feel we must conform.
Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking
"The year you were born marks only your entry into the world. Other years where you prove your worth, they are the ones worth celebrating."
-  Jarod Kintz

"The year you were born marks only your entry into the world. Other years where you prove your worth, they are the ones worth celebrating."

-  Jarod Kintz

Aug 12 '14 · via maritvg · Tagged quotes, personal,
This picture reminds me of the time when my Dalmatian Toto (named in the reference to “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”) was a puppy. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful dog. I wish I’d taken more photos of him when he was little.

This picture reminds me of the time when my Dalmatian Toto (named in the reference to “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”) was a puppy. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful dog. I wish I’d taken more photos of him when he was little.

Aug 7 '14 · Tagged personal,
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked… I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
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