slickwhippet:

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Sunset amid Dark Clouds over the Sea, from The Whalers Sketchbook (ca. 1845)

littletoboggans:

Is it through the realization that we’re the only ones seeing our world that we first learn to create fictions? The monster’s stated quest is to piece together a self for himself that somehow doesn’t feel inherent, something he knows has an origin and must have qualities that are both unique and shared. Is this the quest of the reader, or of the writer? 

smokeandcitrine:

Egon Schiele has always been one of my favourite Artists - these tree landscapes are so beautiful

ahuntersheart:

from “Blue Yodel of the Desperado”

I went to New York to leave you
Flowers of blood and light
In the Picture Shows I dreamed
Of your birthmark in the shape of a pistol

There you were alone and asleep
In your bed like a lake
And your Father watched over you
And his land

As always you slept naked

alongtimealone:

Shi Tao’s Chinese Painting Books (by blueheronarts)

Thanks to gladsdottir.

mythologyofblue:

“Those who live by the sea can hardly form a single thought of which the sea would not be part.”

―Hermann Broch