nonchalance

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Empty - Ray Lamontagne; Till The Sun Turns Black (via lovely–delight)

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. “How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! […] Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

— Anton Chekhov (via ivankaramazovs)

— Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (via peonyandbee)

(via brettcedarberg

Heavenly, June 2017

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