Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

e.e. cummings

(via newmoneyoldclass)

In honor of Edgar Degas’ birthday and the fact that there’s more to him than ballerinas.

In honor of Edgar Degas’ birthday and the fact that there’s more to him than ballerinas.