saxifraga-x-urbium:

plain-flavoured-english:

Your purpose in life is not to love yourself but to love being yourself.

If you goal is to love yourself, then your focus is directed inward toward yourself, and you end up constantly watching yourself from the outside, disconnected, trying to summon the “correct” feelings towards yourself or fashion yourself into something you can approve of.

If your goal is to love being yourself, then your focus is directed outward towards life, on living and making decisions based on what brings you pleasure and fulfillment.

Be the subject, not the object. It doesn’t matter what you think of yourself. You are experiencing life. Life is not experiencing you.

Thank you this is the first post about self love that hasn’t made me want to throw things

ur-friendly-local-memer:

marzipanandminutiae:

little-niggah-sugar:

hi-def-doritos:

amityravenclawelf:

dragonpuppies:

Elizabethan Peasant 1: Look yonder! Someone has writ upon that ceiling that thou art most easily gulled!

Elizabethan Peasant 2: More fool they, for I cannot read.

Elizabethan Peasant 1: *sighing, lowers his visage unto his palm*

Elizabethan Peasant 1: Lo, hast thou learned to read?

Elizabethan Peasant 2: Verily, and to compose as well.

Elizabethan Peasant 1: With haste, then, how is the word “i cup” composed?

Elizabethan Peasant 1: what ho, I know a sporting jest! What art thou when thou art a peasant and art occupied in a privy?

Elizabethan Peasant 2: I wist not, but certain am I that thou shalt tell me speedily.

Elizabethan Peasant 1: Most verily, thou art a peon.

Elizabethan Child: Father, I have not yet broken fast and am filled with pangs of hunger.

Elizabethan Father: Hail, Filled With Pangs Of Hunger! Mine own name is Wybert.

Elizabethan Scholar 1: Alack, I have in my purse but sixty-nine pence.

Elizabethan Scholar 2: Lusty fellow, knowst thou well what such a sum portends!

Elizabethan Scholar 1: I…I have not sufficient to sup on fowl.

Elizabethan Scholar 1: Mine name is verily Micheal with a ‘b’, and I hast been afraid of insects mine entire life.

Elizabethan Scholar 2: Cease cease cease. Wither is the bee?

Elizabethan Scholar 1: Thither is a bee?