A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.

Ocean Vuong, from “A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read”, published in The New Yorker (via soracities)

cumaeansibyl:

dammitmccoy:

jim kirk: *has idea*

jim kirk: *takes breath*

“muffled crashes heard throughout the enterprise, quickly getting louder, concluding with the appearance of a figure in the doorway*

leonard mccoy: no 

spock, already administering nerve pinch: your punctual assistance is appreciated as always, doctor

arthurpendragonns:

But, to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly, the most popular, great painter of all time, the most beloved. His command of colour the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world… Noone had ever done it before. Perhaps noone ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world’s greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.