Isaac Newton Is Perhaps The Greatest Scientist Who Ever Lived. In A World Obsessed With Witchcraft

okay but if we, as a society, normalised writing poetry on the walls, wandering through old forests, having massive secret home libraries filled with books we've collected over the years, wearing medieval dresses and lying on the cool grass in a countryside on summer evenings.. daydreaming instead of worrying about chores and silly responsibilities; the world would've been a better place.

“I can say with certainty that it all started on June 2, 2003. I woke up that day from a very vivid dream. In my dream, two people were having an intense conversation in a meadow in the woods.” - Stephenie Meyer

20 years of Twilight 🩸

horror → castles

sorry to disappoint you, but i’d rather stare out of the window, listen to music and create fake scenarios in my head than do those worthless mortal tasks

life is so hard when you like fictional characters more than real people

It’s weird .physically I’m in my teens but mentally- spiritually if you will, I feel so old. So so old. As though I’ve lived a thousand lives and experienced a thousand scenarios each leaving me exhausted by the end . I feel the weight of all those lives sometimes; When I’m alone in my room . Gaze switching between each wall and then finally , meeting my ceiling-Where my mind explodes with thoughts while simultaneously remaining eerily barren.quite.empty.

Existe várias formas de matar alguém e a pior dela é esquecendo-a. Esquecer do qual incrível e especial aquela pessoa é, do quando divertida e inspiradora, e do quão bom foi amar ela.

In the depth of those words, i intend to write a letter to myself but it came out as a death note instead, i was in awe-destruction. These words carry heavy bricks and burning rage, where should i put it down? I wanted to write about what a fine and a good day looks like but then i remember Van Gogh's saying, 'this sadness will last forever' and so i hold the pen and start pouring blood, spilled on the pages of my dear diary. These kind of stuff happens when you cant pull the trigger. Millions of thoughts written yet none could be able to elucidate the unsaid., it always went down the grave coverted in the dead bones.

- Marium.

I love reading.

I love the way it makes me feel. The way I get lost in the pages, in the words that seem to create a new world around me, in the feeling that I stop being myself and finally I'm someone else worth living. Because books for me it's a way to feel. Yo actually feel. Deeply, without being afraid, marking my very soul to the point the are part of me in a way, the shaped and changed my existence, bringing me into new families and friends and loved ones. Because no matter the end the feeling of being loved is there.

For me reading a book is a holy experience.

When I first hold the book in my hands I want to just sit there and stare a few seconds felling the way my heart beats faster and I can't stop smiling and the anticipation is eating me alive. Just sit there and smell the pages, the way the ink smell, the contrast of the black letter on the white paper.

The I open it and it's like a whole new world. I'm no longer in my existence, but I'm living a different life, a few of them. I have loved ones and I have enemies and I fight for what I believe it's right or causing destruction in my path because I had enough, I'm both the villain and the hero, I'm the good and the bad, I'm more than I'll ever be as myself. I feel the pain, I feel the joy, I laugh at the jokes and the sarcastic comments, I die of embarrassment, I crie and I smile, and I fall in love I judge everyone around me and I can't stop until I know the end.

And then I'm back. Back at my very existence I hate, but how can you hate something when each part of it belongs to something you love so much? When I finish reading is like a subdrop. It's like the world is crashing down on me. It's like a reminder that none of it was real, but yet for me it was. The pain and the joy it was real. It make me feel.

I love reading. It never disappoints me. It keeps my soul company. In a way a human never did, because they never tried. Reading hurts me and puts me back together. It's heals a hurting soul and protects a loved one.

I really love reading. Even when no one else understands it. I do. It's mine. It's make me want to live, to explore, to love, to be.

Homenagem Fúnebre

É muita soberba nossa acreditar nessa realidade como a única e possível, e se ainda dúvida, pois bem, perceba: nossa alma, presa a essa carne de potência e ações limitadas, todas as noites viaja entre visões extraordinárias, que esse mundo, o qual chamamos de verdadeiro, nunca poderia nos presentear como experiência, é como uma promessa do que ainda não é e nem está, mas virá. Pelo dia passeamos entre pensamentos, ideias e o sonho dos acordados, aquele que nos tortura com idealizações e expectativas lindas, extravagantes, simples e mesquinhas desse mundo doloroso; e dói, apenas para provar como humanos e medíocres existimos aqui.

Nada nunca vai fazer-me desacreditar que a morte é tão somente outro nome para tratar a vida, por bem ou mal, um outro tipo de existência, mas com certeza, vida! Seremos livres depois dessa passagem? Assim eu espero: sendo uma singular e insignificante, causa e resultado de uma bela lúgubre implosão no universo, que o fim da minha existência seja um singelo feixe de luz dissipando na escuridão; e se tiver vazio, que eu preencha o nada então. Rogo em desespero, para nunca ser o miserável destinado a uma só e dura realidade, aquele imortalizado.