O
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you know you’re becoming who you are when you hear a year and don’t hear that year as a collection of memories that pertain to you but the time in history when so many things happened in more ways than you can understand.

(Source: lilytatiana)

forgettingtheday:

sunfl0werpetal:

legitimism:

butterhcup:


click on it

This is my most favorite picture in the history of ever

I want to take someone to a field of sunflowers one day

You can take me to a field of sunflowers any day

sunflower fields remind me of shrek

forgettingtheday:

sunfl0werpetal:

legitimism:

butterhcup:

click on it

This is my most favorite picture in the history of ever

I want to take someone to a field of sunflowers one day

You can take me to a field of sunflowers any day

sunflower fields remind me of shrek

(Source: ofseaandstars)

heaveninawildflower:

Butterflies and moths from larva to adult.  From ‘Allgemeine Naturgeschichte für alle Stände.’ (Stuttgart : Hoffmann, 1833-1841). Author - Lorenz Oken  (1779-1851).     
Image and text courtesy NYPL Digital Gallery    

heaveninawildflower:

Butterflies and moths from larva to adult.  From ‘Allgemeine Naturgeschichte für alle Stände.’ (Stuttgart : Hoffmann, 1833-1841). Author - Lorenz Oken  (1779-1851).     

Image and text courtesy NYPL Digital Gallery    

heaveninawildflower:

'Dragon Flies.' Plate from 'New International Encyclopaedia.’ (New York : Dodd, Mead, 1902-1930).     
Image and text courtesy NYPL Digital Gallery.

heaveninawildflower:

'Dragon Flies.' Plate from 'New International Encyclopaedia.’ (New York : Dodd, Mead, 1902-1930).     

Image and text courtesy NYPL Digital Gallery.

(Source: theindianbummer)

…I come from empyrean fires,
From microscopic spaces,
Where molecules with fierce desires,
Shiver in hot embraces.

The atoms clash, the spectra flash,
Projected on the screen,
The double D, magnesian b,
And Thallium’s living green.

This crystal tube the electric ray
Shows optically clean,
No dust or haze within, but stay!
All has not yet been seen…

James Clerk Maxwell

Nature, 1871, Vol. IV, page 261

(via running-geek)

I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth.
darkface:

Carved inscriptions by Alshain4

When my husband [Carl Sagan] died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me — it still sometimes happens — and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again.

Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful.

The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.

Ann Druyan (via whats-out-there)
latimes:

Here’s how dry California has become at the start of September, 2011 vs. 2014.