this site is so unlike anything else in all the best ways and they've tried for years to make it profitable but couldn't because a user-friendly and user-driven experience and profit simply cannot coexist but stagnating/dropping profits aren't an option in today's climate. that being said i highly doubt tumblr is going down it feels too unkillable but if it is im not going to instagram or twitter or mastofort or whatever i will simply walk into a forest and become moss. god bless
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"I love you"
POE SPENT SIX YEARS WRITING THE PERFECT BOOK FOR RANPO; HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE'D DO IF RANPO WERE TO BE GONE; HE GETS SO EXCITED TO SEE RANPO DO HIS THING
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I think that carmy brutally under estimates how much sydney genuinely worries about him. as much as he listens to her, she listens to him too, always super intently and visibly digests what he says and does. whether it’s him trying (and failing) to casually shoehorn in that his mom drove a car through their house or that he has panic attacks on a regular basis. she even seemed taken aback, bothered really, by his insane art skills and that fact that it’s something she just didn’t know about him.
when carmy tells syd she’s not alone he really means it. and when she responds she looks him dead on and tells him “neither are you”.
it’s clear that even sydney doesn’t think he believes how serious she is, how much she wants to be there for him the way he’s trying to be for her.
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'Yes, that old oak with which I saw eye to eye was here in this forest,' thought Prince Andrei. 'But whereabouts?' he wondered again, looking at the left side of the road and, without realizing, without recognizing it, admiring the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured, spread out a canopy of dark, sappy green, and seemed to swoon and sway in the rays of the evening sun. There was nothing to be seen now of knotted fingers and scars, of old doubts and sorrows. Through the rough, century-old bark, even where there were no twigs, leaves had sprouted, so juicy, so young that it was hard to believe that aged veteran had borne them.
'Yes, it is the same oak,' thought Prince Andrei, and all at once he was seized by an irrational, spring-like feeling of joy and renewal. All the best moments of his life of a sudden rose to his memory. Austerlitz, with that lofty sky, the reproachful look on his dead wife's face, Pierre at the ferry, that girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night itself and the moon and ... everything suddenly crowded back into his mind.
'No, life is not over at thirty-one,' Prince Andrei decided all at once, finally and irrevocably. 'It is not enough for me to know what I have in me- everyone else must know it too: Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to fly away into the sky; all of them must learn to know me, in order that my life may not be lived for myself alone.
From War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
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