There are things you do sometimes, actions that you take by obeying sudden impulses, without stopping for even a fraction of a second to think, and then you spend the rest of your life either lamenting it or thanking yourself for it. They are rare, unique, and perfect moments.
Irene Gonzalez Frei (via variationsonrelations)
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (via variationsonrelations)
I’m back
I went to see a doctor once, and they recommended I take something for anxiety and depression. I was put on something that was similar to Prozac for a little bit. I took maybe six or seven pills and got fed up with it [laughs], so I just stopped taking them. That stuff’s not for me. There are probably things in my life that I need to figure out, and I’m not the type of person that figures them out by talking to someone I don’t know or taking prescribed pills. As long as it’s not prescribed to me, though, I’ll take it.
Deal.

Cash

Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.
Yeah
Speak if you have words stronger than silence, or keep your silence.
Euripides (via variationsonrelations)
gq:

Avicii: The King of Oontz Oontz
Four years ago, he was just some Swedish kid named Tim who liked messing around on his laptop at home. One iTunes-dominating dance hit (“Levels”) later, he’s Avicii, world’s hottest DJ, making $250,000 a night to keep the Ecstasy-dosed, champagne-soaked masses moving. Jessica Pressler spends a wild week jetting around with Avicii and his Oontz-a-Loompas, and nobody stops partying until they’re rolled out in a wheelchair:


“Security!” the promoter shouts, and hulking figures fall into step beside us.
“Dog!” An assistant sweeps in to take the Pomeranian from the girlfriend’s arms.
“Okay, go!” and this unwieldy centipede begins its shuffle through the Encore resort, into a restaurant, where bejeweled women and heavyset men look up curiously from their Dover sole, out the back door, past a pool, up some stairs, and behind a velvet rope where Tim alone steps onto a raised platform facing out into the gaping maw of XS nightclub.
He pauses a minute, taking in the expectant faces, flushed and a little drunk, chanting, “A-vi-cii! A-vi-cii! A-vi-cii!”
Then the light falls on him, and he lifts a skinny arm and flicks a switch, flooding the room with a melody that washes over the crowd like a balm before turning into a beat that has them going, his words, “completely apeshit,” and then, and only then, does he relax.


Avicii: The King Of Oontz Oontz

gq:

Avicii: The King of Oontz Oontz

Four years ago, he was just some Swedish kid named Tim who liked messing around on his laptop at home. One iTunes-dominating dance hit (“Levels”) later, he’s Avicii, world’s hottest DJ, making $250,000 a night to keep the Ecstasy-dosed, champagne-soaked masses moving. Jessica Pressler spends a wild week jetting around with Avicii and his Oontz-a-Loompas, and nobody stops partying until they’re rolled out in a wheelchair:

“Security!” the promoter shouts, and hulking figures fall into step beside us.

“Dog!” An assistant sweeps in to take the Pomeranian from the girlfriend’s arms.

“Okay, go!” and this unwieldy centipede begins its shuffle through the Encore resort, into a restaurant, where bejeweled women and heavyset men look up curiously from their Dover sole, out the back door, past a pool, up some stairs, and behind a velvet rope where Tim alone steps onto a raised platform facing out into the gaping maw of XS nightclub.

He pauses a minute, taking in the expectant faces, flushed and a little drunk, chanting, “A-vi-cii! A-vi-cii! A-vi-cii!”

Then the light falls on him, and he lifts a skinny arm and flicks a switch, flooding the room with a melody that washes over the crowd like a balm before turning into a beat that has them going, his words, “completely apeshit,” and then, and only then, does he relax.

Avicii: The King Of Oontz Oontz