Choose life.
Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future.
Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that?
(Source: wasbella102, via g0d-and-satan)
like-glittering-wax-butterflies:
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. —Romeo + Juliet (1996)
oh
(via coinciquency)
“I never had money, and I was very happy without it. When I die, my money’s not gonna come with me. My movies will live on, for people to judge what I was as a person. I just want to stay curious.” —Heath Ledger
(via dysfunctionalfun)
