(Source: , via ysvoice)
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(Source: aneclecticcontradiction, via theredhouse)
(via lustfulwhispers)
(Source: lepidedronka, via theredhouse)
The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify by their own lonesome familiarities to this feeling.
― Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums (via free-wilderness)
