"And after the races, he’ll take me to dinner and dancing again, and on Thursday to the tennis matches and on Sunday to the country. What a waste of time, dear Jacques. What a hopeless waste of time."

Gathering is peculiar, because you see nothing but what you’re looking for. If you’re picking raspberries, you see only what’s red, and if you’re looking for bones you see only the white. No matter where you go, the only thing you see is bones.
― from The Summer Book, by Tove Jansson (via netherworldvineyard)

seafoamchild:

places i wish i was

  • on a spring picnic in a quaint english village
  • eating macaroons in a parisian boulangerie
  • sipping a pumpkin latte in a warm coffee shop on a rainy october day
  • picking blackberries on an august morning
  • at a summer evening garden party, wearing a white dress and drinking champagne
  • exploring a very old cemetery
  • in a rowboat, watching the sun rise on a misty morning
  • watching the ocean waves from a high stony ledge


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