I will love

“Death blowing bubbles,” 18th century. The bubbles symbolize life’s fragility. This plaster work appears on the ceiling of Holy Grave Chapel in Michaelsberg Abbey, Bamberg, Germany.

i’m sure we will.

by August Laux

Just some of the many deer I saw in the cemetery this morning :)

By  Eduardo Pedro

https://www.wikiart.org/en/alfred-sisley/street-of-marlotte-also-known-as-women-going-to-the-woods-1866

(ig at ofavonlea)

2014

Photography by Xuebing DU

“I never thought I’d come back to New York.  I have a lot of bad memories here.  It can be an ugly place.  My ex-husband lives here.  On September 11th I was on the street below the second tower.  So there are things I’d just prefer not to remember.  But recently my mother got sick and I came home to take care of her. I was in a bit of a rut at the time.  I’d fallen away from my passions.  I was just working to pay the rent.  And one evening I was walking by the river and I passed a place called Hudson River Community Sailing.  They offered free sailing lessons.  I don’t know why I stopped.  I was intellectually convinced that sailing was not for me.  I was getting older.  I was out of shape.  But I decided to give it a try.  And I got hooked on it.  I got kinda obsessed with learning to sail.  I remember the first time I was out there alone.  It felt amazing.  I was in the middle of the Hudson, the wind was blowing, I could see the whole city, and my hand was on the tiller.  It seemed like I was doing something impossible.  I’m not white.  I’m not male.  I don’t own a boat.  I don’t even have money.  But I’m in New York City and I’m fucking sailing.”

instagram

“When it starts to get crowded, I’ll leave.  Because I can’t stand the looks.  You know how many people were gonna sit on that bench over there, but decided against it, because of what’s sitting right here?  I drank myself into homelessness.  So I’m not looking for violins or tissues.  But I used to be in the mainstream.  I was somebody once, and people used to look at me without any barriers or animosity.  I can tell you this: when John Lennon sings ‘Imagine,’ it’s complete bullshit.  He was living in the Dakota when he wrote that, overlooking Central Park.  Imagine no possessions?  He should have written a song about all the wonderful things that he had.  Imagine nothing to live or die for?  No Yoko?  No career?  No child?  No fame?  No status?  Well here I am.  There’s no peace here.”