"Exercise the writing muscle every day, even if it is only a letter, notes, a title list, a character sketch, a journal entry. Writers are like dancers, like athletes. Without that exercise, the muscles seize up."

You know what’s kind of beautiful?

In French, you don’t really say “I miss you.” You say “tu me manques,” which is closer to “you are missing from me.”

I love that. “You are missing from me.” You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood. I cannot function without you.

(Source: timorleste)

cisbender:

when an artist wants to show you their art

or a writer wants you to read what they’ve written

it’s quite often an expression of trust

because a poem or a story or a painting are often things that come from the heart

little pieces of the artists themselves

and if they’re willing to share it with you

you should appreciate it

The Kaleidoscopes;

I’m your biggest fan. <3

"If someone writes a great story, people praise the author, not the pen. People don’t say, ‘Oh what an incredible pen… Where can I get a pen like this so I can write great stories?’ Well, I am just a pen in the hands of the Lord. He is the author. All praise should go to him."

"Inner beauty, too, needs occasionally to be told it is beautiful."

Who is Jesus Christ?

He was born in an obscure village the child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in still another village, where he worked in a carpenter’s shop until he was 30.
Then for three years he was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book, he never held an office.
he never had a family or owned a house.
He didn’t go to college.
He never travelled 200 miles from the place where he was born.
he did none of the things one usually associates with greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.
He was only 33 when public opinion turned against him.
His friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies and he went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
While he was dying, his executioners gambled for his clothing, the only property he had on earth.
When he was dead, he was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure of the human race, the leader of mankind’s progress.
All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man on earth as much as that one solitary life. 

today-isawindingroad:

Anthem Lights Can’t Get Over You

(Source: -neverfaraway)

142 plays