“I woke to the smell of toast and eggs drifting through a sun-dappled curtain and I thought how lucky I am to be alive in a world of sun-dappled anything.”
- Pushing Daisies, Pigeon
(Source: pusheen)
Joyce Kilmer, “Trees”
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.(submitted by poeticmind)
The Doctor Who Fandom and the Olympic Torch
- Whovians: You know who has to carry the Olympic Torch and light up the fire?
- BBC: Hey, wait a second, you kno-
- Whovians: You know who has to do it
- BBC: Listen, that was just an episode-
- Whovians: You know who.
- BBC: It's just fiction.
- Whovians: You know who.
- BBC: But this series is not that important as-
- Whovians: You know.
- BBC: But-
- Whovians: Or the world will explode
- BBC: ...What?
- Whovians: It's time law BBC.
- BBC: ...
- Whovians: It's the law of the universe.
- BBC: ....
- Whovians: There will be a crack in time.
- BBC: I think you take this a bit too seriou-
- Whovians: The Doctor will come
- BBC: But David hasn't even got time for this, we asked-
- Whovians: It's written in history.
- BBC: But the Queen-
- Whovians: Will not be amused.
Another Flawless ashes Video by KatrinDepp.
(Source: mooganbaby)
Yet Do I Marvel
By Countee CullenI doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
(Source: kstewarts)
