thought provoking quotes

I cannot live with myself any longer.” This was the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind. Then suddenly I became aware of what a peculiar thought it was. `Am I one or two? If I cannot live with myself, there must be two of me: the `I’ and the `self’ that `I’ cannot live with.“ "Maybe,” I thought, “only one of them is real.
—  Introduction: The Power Of Now

‘Never, never, be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way!’

Martin Luther King Jr

I feel like the langblr community has been a bit dead lately so I’m throwing this challenge in hopes that it will activate and inspire people to make their own langblr content!

How to participate

  • Reblog this post
  • Do at least one of the tasks listed below and tag it with #OLCC
  • If you want me to reblog your post please submit the link to it 


  • Make a masterpost of resources for a certain language or languages in general
  • Make a list of resource masterposts other people have made
  • Write a review of a language resource of your choice 
  • Make a follow forever post of your favourite langblrs or a list of langblrs that speak/study a certain language 
  • Write an overview of a language 
  • Make a “reasons to learn [language]” post 
  • Make a vocabulary list (you can find some topic ideas here)
  • Make a grammar explanation post
  • Make a post of idioms or proverbs with explanations
  • Translate and/or make a vocabulary list of a short text (like a piece of news) or song lyrics
  • Give tips and advice on learning languages in general/a certain language/some other related topic
  • Find an interesting article or a video about languages or linguistics and post it on your blog
  • Find a motivating or thought-provoking quote about languages, linguistics, or language learning and post it on your blog 
  • Recommend music/books/movies/tv-shows/radio stations/podcasts for a certain language
  • Take and post a picture of your language books or language books at your local library or bookstore
  • Take and post a picture of your notes 
  • Take a picture of your language learning journal or tracker  
  • Create language learning worksheets or printables  
  • Post an audio clip or a video of yourself speaking your target language
  • Write something in your target language for practice (and perhaps ask your followers to correct it!)  
  • Make a blog entry telling about what you’re currently studying and how it’s going
  • Make a meme or a relatable post about language learning
  • Make a language joke or pun 
  • Share a story or a memory about your language learning journey 
  • Make a “questions for langblrs” post
  • Make your own langblr challenge 
  • Something else?

I’m looking forward to seeing your posts! 


a/n: I asked @aph-blue  what they wanted for their birthday and then wrote them the polar opposite of what they asked for, but that’s actually their fault? Because, I had the opportunity to not see a set of pictures and they took that from me, and my mind, haunted by those aforementioned pictures that are now burned into my skull, couldn’t write anything but this, and it is probably bad because I was the one who wrote it.

Beached, but not bloated, and a fuckboy Alfred because why not. Happy birthday, blue!

Alfred caught his first boyfriend when he was seventeen.

The tide had been turbulent that evening and Alfred had seen a guy thrashing in the waters, head bobbing above the waves before going back under, screaming all the way through.

Never mind that he was on the shallow end of the ocean. Alfred was there to save him, jumping off his stand to sprint across the beach and throw himself into the water, dragging the gasping man back onto the sand. After he’d coughed up the ocean, he’d given Alfred his number, and it was then he swore to himself being a lifeguard was the best thing that would ever happen to him.

The pay was less than ideal, yes, but the worship made up for it. Half the beach would congregate around his chair, flaunting themselves for a chance to be his next treat. It was mostly perks, to say the least.

Which is why Alfred rolled out of bed today when he could’ve been sleeping his summer away. It was his turn to claim the afternoon shift, and he did so with a sigh, falling into the familiar routine of lathering on sunscreen, slipping into his shorts and spending ten minutes in front of the mirror to pick which sunglasses he was in the mood for that day.

Beauty was hardly effortless. 

Keep reading

I have several homes.
Not homes I can live in but
homes that help me live.
One being a home for happiness
another for sadness
one for comfort

Home to me
is the grip on my pencil
or my pen
either loose or tight
and the seemingly endless blankness
of a white sheet of paper before me
hungrily waiting to be
touched intimately by the emotions
from every inch
of my body.
It’s the place I can shout
without straining my vocal chords
cry without always having tears
drip on the paper
laugh without even so much as a flurry of carbon dioxide flying up my throat and escaping my lips.
A place I can
open up without having to
feel exposed
but then I realize
as I dress the paper in the intricacies
of my being
I myself become
empty yet fulfilled
how ironic it is.
The lead and ink
whisper my loud thoughts.
It almost feels like love to me in a sense.
Or maybe it is love.
Love is accepting
love is free
love is honest
- maybe it is love.

Home to me is
bursting through the front door
soaked from the rain
tearing off my coat
kicking off my exhausted shoes and
slipping off my worries - did I say worries? I mean wet socks
- tossing everything aside to
make way for the soon plop
on my comfy bed.
The burying
of myself
under the covers
in the warmth
in solitude.
A place I can
take a breath without worrying what will be caught in my next one
where I can ball up because I’m
or simply because I am cold but under those thick covers no one can tell
which one I truly am
confiding in…
Sometimes even I can’t tell.
Sometimes I lay there not knowing why
but I’m accepted anyway.
I always am.

Home to me
are the
familiar faces I see
each day.
Home is family.
I’m not an externally emotional person.

I’m not someone who can pour my
feelings into your
ready or not cup. I concede
before I even start
fearing there are holes or
the cup might overfill

become too heavy then

fall and shatter.
What if my sentimentalism becomes a constituent in
colossal displacement
causing your waters to unsettle and
form a tsunami?
But one may ask
what are the chances?
Substantial? Minute?
Still that possibility exists. But
even if I can’t find felicitous
comfort in their responses
I’m still an owner of the
opulent hospitality I find in just their
facial expressions.

A house was my home before
I came to realize that
only I live in it and
not it in me. A house is a
physical structure that can be
blown away by a tornado but
the structure of my homes never falter.

E.G. Home