this blog has mooooooved

heh, heh. new location is here :: thatpaigeryan.wordpress.com.

see ya there!

nobody knows

via cotty: faretheewell

on being cozy

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.

- The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

colliding with the very air she breathes

home

where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. -Oliver Wendall Holmes

most people