See With Your Hands.
this is one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard all day. veronicaburris: Today I learned that many art museums worldwide offer private tours for blind or partially-sighted individuals so that they are able to interact with the work on exhibit through touch. Photographer, Matt Ducklo captured some of these tours.
A deep inhale and the mist swept the heart of the mountain covering her with a hidden love like that of a secret admirer
For indeed my life is a perpetual question mark – my thirst for books, my...– Anaïs Nin (via thatkindofwoman)
I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its...– annie dillard, my saint. (via smleaden)
Nea: Passover in Jerusalem.I was so happy to have... →
Simply too beautiful not to reblog. linnealebreton: Passover in Jerusalem. I was so happy to have a Passover Seder at a genuine Messianic Jewish family home. A couple living in Jerusalem were so kind to take me in and have me apart of their annual feast. It was so beautiful and a real blessing to my experience here…
Be still with yourself until the object of your attention affirms your presence.– Minor White - from William Neill in the Outdoor Photographer Magazine, article entitled “Landscapes for my Spirit” 1997
Prayer brings power into our work. If we wish power for any work to which God...– RA Torrey (book: How to Pray)
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold:...– Charles Dickens (via thatkindofwoman)
The Seasons - "Spring"
celebratepoetry: Poem submission by Nathan Skky Let us be Spring — with flowers in our hair and sap in our veins and the song of Life on our lips, loosed as a babbling brook and birdsong. Let us be joyous with the sun pouring from our eyes; with the wind whispering words in our ear as we dance, swaying like the trees in the breeze. Yes, let us be Spring with rose-petal skin and eyes so green...
Show me the man you honor and I will know what kind of man you are.– Thomas Carlyle. (via thenewprotagonist)
When one loves one would wish to speak ceaselessly of that being whom one loves or, at least, to look at him without ceasing. Prayer is no other thing than this. -Charles de Foucauid translated by Mary Burtan