A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor — such is my idea of happiness.
― Leo Tolstoy (via observando)

Omg mine too

I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.
― Lauren Oliver, Delirium (via observando)
A house without books must be sad. Even sadder a house of books without people.
― Manuel Rivas (via observando)
If we cannot comprehend God in his visible works, how then in his inconceivable thoughts, that call the works into being?
― Edgar Allan Poe (via psych-quotes)

Tragic rabbit, a painting.
The caked ears green like rolled corn.
The black forehead pointing at the stars.
A painting on my wall, alone

as rabbits are
and aren’t. Fat red cheek,
all Art, trembling nose,
a habit hard to break as not.

You too can be a tragic rabbit; green and red
your back, blue your manly little chest.
But if you’re ever goaded into being one
beware the True Flesh, it

will knock you off your tragic horse
and break your tragic colors like a ghost
breaks marble; your wounds will heal
so quickly water

will be jealous.
Rabbits on white paper painted
outgrow all charms against their breeding wild;
and their rolled corn ears become horns.

So watch out if the tragic life feels fine –
caught in that rabbit trap
all colors look like sunlight’s swords,
and scissors like The Living Lord.

― Tragic Rabbit by Stan Rice. Moan worthy! (via thewildthin9s)