Movies/tv series/short films/videoclips.
Theatre. Books.

Are you trying to save my soul?

(Source: nikolajwaldau, via robertkazinsky)

L i g h t versus D a r k

No clone is safe.

Loving the OBS2 fan art posters. Keep it coming, #CloneClub.


No clone is safe.

Loving the OBS2 fan art posters. Keep it coming, #CloneClub.

(Source: enjolyass, via lrhyme)

Sherlock | A Scandal in Belgravia » Snow

(Source: intobattle, via dudeufugly)

(Source: blackradar, via dudeufugly)

The adventure of the Lions Mane, The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

The adventure of the Lions ManeThe Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

(Source: shylocks, via cclbaldwin)

"There’s more to life than a little money, you know. Don’tcha know that? And here ya are, and it’s a beautiful day. Well. I just don’t understand it." - Fargo (1996)

(Source: mashamorevna, via cumberbatchs)

“I had trouble graduating from Berkeley, not because of this inability to deal with ideas — I was majoring in English, and I could locate the house-and-garden imagery in The Portrait of a Lady as well as the next person, “imagery” being by definition the kind of specific that got my attention – but simply because I had neglected to take a course in Milton. I did this. For reasons which now sound baroque I needed a degree by the end of that summer, and the English department finally agreed, if I would come down from Sacramento every Friday and talk about the cosmology of Paradise Lost, to certify me proficient in Milton. I did this. Some Fridays I took the Greyhound bus, other Fridays I caught the Southern Pacific’s City of San Francisco on the last leg of its transcontinental trip. I can no longer tell you whether Milton put the sun or the earth at the center of his universe in Paradise Lost, the central question of at least one century and a topic about which I wrote 10,000 words that summer, but I can still recall the exact rancidity of the butter in the City of San Francisco’s dining car, and the way the tinted windows on the Greyhound bus cast the oil refineries around Carquinez Straits into a grayed and obscure sinister light. In short my attention was always on the periphery, on what I could see and taste and touch, on the butter, and the Greyhound bus. During those years I was traveling on what I knew to be a very shaky passport, forged paper: I knew that I was no legitimate resident in any world of ideas. I knew I couldn’t think. All I knew then was what I couldn’t do. All I knew then was what I wasn’t, and it took me some years to discover what I was.

Which was a writer.

By which I mean not a “good” writer or a “bad” writer but simply a writer, a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on pieces of paper. Had my credentials been in order I would never have become a writer. Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write. I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear. Why did the oil refineries around Carquinez Straits seem sinister to me in the summer of 1956? Why have the night lights in the bevatron burned in my mind for twenty years? What is going on in these pictures in my mind

—   "Why I Write," Joan Didion

(Source: commovente, via gilbertnorrell)

“No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.”

—   Erin Bow

(Source: writersrelief, via celaenoo)

GET TO KNOW ME MEME: 5 favorite movies [2/5]
↳ The Fall (2006) - “You should ask someone else. There’s no happy ending with me.”

(via fuckyeahmovies)

“Similar to the way in which astrologers considered the stars to be in man ‘s service and connected with his happiness and sorrow, such an investigator considers the entire universe in connection with man: the entire universe as the infinitely fractured echo of one original sound-man; the entire universe as the infinitely multiplied copy of one original picture-man. His method is to treat man as the measure of all things, but in doing so he again proceeds from the error of believing that he has these things immediately before him as mere objects. He forgets that the original perceptual metaphors are metaphors and takes them to be the things themselves.”

—   Nietzsche, “On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense”

(Source: queertheoryissexy, via celaenoo)


I made a compilation of scenes from the entire first season of Hannibal and removed eveything that had people in it.
I present you… Hannibal. Without people.

Music by David Firth

(via cumberbatchs)