if i ever stop reblogging this it’s because i’m dead and in my grave. 

(Source: itsbetterthananal, via mnrva)

This has never not made me laugh.


Nunzio Paci

Artist on tumblr

“My whole work deals with the relationship between man and Nature, in particular with animals and plants. The focus of my observation is body with its mutations. My intention is to explore the infinite possibilities of life, in search of a balance between reality and imagination.” txt


I want to snuggle John. It’s also almost 4 in the morning and he’s in Dallas and I’m intoxicated.


“Kill the spare,” whispered a hazy voice out of the darkness, and Harry heard “AVADA KEDAVRA,” and he saw a flash of green light, and Cedric was dead.

“A pity,” Harry said. “He would have made quite a fine architect, had he lived.”

“Quiet, boy!” Voldemort hissed. “I have you now.” He turned to face his followers, who were not being recompensed financially according to their service, which was ridiculous. “You know of course, that they have called this boy my downfall? You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy. His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice… This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it… but no matter. I can touch him now.”

Harry laughed.

“How dare you laugh at your death, you impertinent boy,” Voldemort snarled.

“My mother’s death was unnecessary,” Harry said. “It is not because she refused to honor her own life that you cannot touch me. It is because I have self-respect.”

“Impossible!” Voldemort cried. He shot all sorts of magic at Harry, but it didn’t work.

“Self-respect is something that can’t be killed. The worst thing is to kill a man’s pretense at it.” Harry turned to Voldemort’s followers. “You are fools — mediocre fools — because you work not for money but for the approval of others, for the approval of another man.”

“And what of that man?” Voldemort asked dangerously. “What do you think of me, Potter?”

“But I don’t think of you,” Harry said. He Disapparated back to Hogsmeade. “I only think about trains.”

He ordered another fire-whiskey and thought about trains.


Ayn Rand’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire —

I swear I think about Harry thinking about trains at least once every two days

(via trillgamesh)

This is beautiful.

(Source: cloggedsingles, via mnrva)

HP Atlas Shrugged Harry Potter dagny taggart ayn rand jk rowling trains