Vidas Palavras: Archive

“The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place; from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web. That is why we must not discriminate between things. Where things are concerned there are no class distinctions. We must pick out what is good for us where we can find it - except from our own works. I have a horror of copying myself.” —Picasso (via smut-to-go) (via electronicalrattlebag)

Jun 24, 201022 notes

Jun 20, 20102,481 notes

“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.” —

The Rain is Full of Ghosts Tonight

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

(via lifeisfinite)

(via dementes)

(via electronicalrattlebag)

Jun 19, 201012 notes

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Jun 19, 2010

Jun 18, 2010

Errado Cuidadosamente

Nossos olhares pintados da mesma cor

desconhecida cor