i think it passing odd that i am loved by one for a kindness i never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act.
(Source: illusionists)
▲164 | reblog▲31512 | reblogthe mediocre gatsby
the decent wall of china
the ok depression
The pale red letter
to injure a mockingbird
the mild afternoon strolls of tom sawyer
The elected representative of a ring.
fairly decent omens
game of elected representative seats
▲785 | reblogEvery night Arya would say their names. ”Ser Gregor,” she’d whisper to her stone pillow. “Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.” Back in Winterfell, Arya had prayed with her mother in the sept and with her father in the godswood, but there were no gods on the road to Harrenhal, and her names were the only prayer she cared to remember.
