Martina Boone

writer. blogger. mother. traveler on a bumpy road.

If you think in pictures, write. If you think in words, paint.
— Frank O’Har
Martina Boone
Sometimes I wish that I could sing or dance or paint or compose symphonies or build cathedrals to express somehow what all of this means to me. I wish I were a priest or a robin or a child or a sunset.
~ Robert Benson, Living Prayer

Martina Boone

Sometimes I wish that I could sing or dance or paint or compose symphonies or build cathedrals to express somehow what all of this means to me. I wish I were a priest or a robin or a child or a sunset.

~ Robert Benson, Living Prayer

(Source: walkingonsidewalks, via acapareda)

Martina Boone
 It often seems to me that night is still more richly coloured than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.
~ Vincent Van Gogh

Martina Boone

 It often seems to me that night is still more richly coloured than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.

~ Vincent Van Gogh

(Source: observando, via pamvickers)

Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.
~ Henry Miller View high resolution

Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.

~ Henry Miller

Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.
~ Marcus Tullius Cicero View high resolution

Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.

~ Marcus Tullius Cicero

“Just because something isn’t practical doesn’t mean it’s not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.”
~ Stephanie Perkins View high resolution

“Just because something isn’t practical doesn’t mean it’s not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.”

~ Stephanie Perkins

(Source: midsummersky)

Magical places are always beautiful and deserve to be contemplated… Always stay on the bridge between the invisible and the visible. ~ Paulo Coelho View high resolution

Magical places are always beautiful and deserve to be contemplated… Always stay on the bridge between the invisible and the visible. ~ Paulo Coelho

(Source: scramblesthedealer, via estrellas-del-deseo)

Lindsey Stirling shows that you can make the old new in magical ways. Beautiful!

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. ~ Pablo Picasso View high resolution

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. ~ Pablo Picasso

(Source: mousetrap, via estrellas-del-deseo)

Poetry is written with tears, fiction with blood, and history with invisible ink.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón