Next

The Sun's Secret

Ask me anything Next page Archive

sincerelyhapiness:

kuawa:

suicidalsighs:

nialovesyouu:

peachhhh:

minted-snowflakes:

v-ona:

b0mbb:

literally this goes to all the anons whoever tell me can’t or have no reason to be sad.

So true

wow i never thought of it like this before

amen sista

Hmmm..

This got said to me today omg

omg i never thought of that

TumbleOn)

Ezra Koenig - April 8, 1984

(Source: ezrakaynig, via dianeyoungblood)

thewalruswaspaul:

aninjasdream:

The Strokes as babies

baby nick is my fav

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter—the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last—the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company… — E.B. White, ‘Here is New York’