Be young. Be dope. Be Proud. — The Declaration of Independence (1776)

(via vagabondrachel)

tropicalfruitbabe:

*doesn’t check bank account*
*pretends everything is fine*

(via shirtlesseuropeanmen)

brownglucose:

Ok Blue Blue! Get it mama!!

brownglucose:

Ok Blue Blue! Get it mama!!

(via bossypants)

foxsearchlightpictures:

"No one ever takes a photograph of something they want to forget." - One Hour Photo

You will most definitely never be forgotten

mig14:

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;  The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;  The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:  But O heart! heart! heart!  O the bleeding drops of red,  Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.  O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;  For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;  For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;  Here Captain! dear father!  This arm beneath your head;  It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;  My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;  The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;  From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;  Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!  But I, with mournful tread,  Walk the deck my Captain lies,  Fallen cold and dead.

mig14:

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

(via somethingclosetohappy)