to, the one who intrigues


So things go.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dearly Beloved (via theunquotables)

(via northerntendencies)


do you ever cook something in the microwave but it’s still really cold in the middle and you just keep eating it instead of heating it longer because life is pointless and entropy is unavoidable and the universe is filled with callous and casual destruction

(Source: booeste, via acomas)