Johanna, 21, from Sweden

Introvert, reader, Ravenclaw & feminist.
Loves books and watches TV: Parks & Recreation, Fringe, Broad City, Brooklyn Nine-Nine,Veep, etc. Really anything with wonderful women.


Adores: The Avett Brothers, Jack's Mannequin, Noah and the Whale, Håkan Hellström, First Aid Kit, Kent, Of Monsters and Men, The Tallest Man on Earth, Regina Spektor, etc.

where I am // where I want to be



We bring you tidings of great joy—
not only peace but poetry on earth.

- Julia Alvarez
He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven’s happiness — mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive, and he said mine would be drunk; I said I should fall asleep in his, and he said he could not breathe in mine.

Emily Brontë, from Wuthering Heights   (via days-of-reading)

hashtag-beirut:

Adrienne Rich, “Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law.”

becomingtaylor:

This is so important

#feminism
Her happiness balances on book spines.

six word story #22 (via masochistic-dreamers)

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.


Edna St. Vincent Millay (via observando)

cross-connect:

Selected works from Natalya Lobanova.

Posted to Cross-Connect by Mike.

myccroft:

fangirl challenge || tv shows [4/5] | fringe

#fringe

All of Leslie’s compliments to Ann