All the trees of the field will clap their hands.

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I don’t really know why but I’ve reached a point in my life where it just seems like a terrible task to post art that I love on tumblr. I will not delete this blog, it’s been a good friend and I have a two year archive now of images that have helped me to see clearer. Goodbye tumblrsphere.

Check out my sister’s awesome (and far superior) art tumblr :

http://ithinkiwasherebefore.tumblr.com

And, by the way, I am an artist. Here’s some of my own personal work:

http://ididnotdrawthis.blogspot.com

Cheers,

- Madeline

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(Source: theflyingcircusofmymind)

"SONIA
What can we do? We must live our lives. [A pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live through the long procession of days before us, and through the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate imposes on us; we shall work for others without rest, both now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile—and—we shall rest. I have faith, Uncle, fervent, passionate faith. [SONIA kneels down before her uncle and lays her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall rest. [TELEGIN plays softly on the guitar] We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. [The WATCHMAN’S rattle is heard in the garden; TELEGIN plays softly; MME. VOITSKAYA writes something on the margin of her pamphlet; MARINA knits her stocking] We shall rest."

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Ending of Uncle Vanya, Act IV. Anton Chekhov.