Everything is made out of tiny little strings. They vibrate at different frequencies, so you get different stuff. If it oscillates one way it’s an electron, if it oscillates another way it’ll be a proton and so on.

(via sixpenceee)


He had the most beautiful eyes. They were brown and therefore retained much of their information. You could not read them instantly like blue eyes. You had to keep looking, you had to study. Like searching for familiar forms in a darkened room. And there were sparks of mischief firing along the thin gold wires that streaked the iris. They were loyal eyes. Deeper, there was warmth, almost a glow. Just the crumbs from a fire, smoldering on. I loved when his eyelashes twitched and he blinked, and suddenly happiness was there inside his eyes. Unmistakable. Like a single word printed on a clean white page. I love seeing that word in his eyes.

— Augusten Burroughs (via grasslatte)

(Source: exploringpathlesswoods, via bissousbissous)