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Be a light unto yourself; betake yourself to no external refuge. Hold fast to the Truth. Look not for refuge to anyone beside yourself.
— Buddha

Whoa, nostalgia.

I don’t think they could be any more beautiful.

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
— The Dalai Lama
This is the best thing I’ve seen on the internet in forever. 

edit: it’s not serious. In case that wasn’t obvious. View high resolution

This is the best thing I’ve seen on the internet in forever.

edit: it’s not serious. In case that wasn’t obvious.

From the series A Storybook Life by Philip-Lorca diCorcia.

So in love with these.

More of his work can be seen here.

Another cute Tanya Davis video, as first heard on The Vinyl Cafe a few weeks back.

I’ll never get tired of this.

pretty pretty pretty

a wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand.  I think i too have known
autumn too long

- e.e. cummings View high resolution

a wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand. I think i too have known
autumn too long

- e.e. cummings

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae View high resolution

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae

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