Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair !"
Nothing beside remains : round the decay
of that colosal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
“Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via caryrandolph) (via beautifulordinaire)
