Miranda. Vagabond and International Woman of Mystery. Currently a Londoner. Gryffindor. INFP. Here you will find: History. Literature. Art Museums, Quirky British Things, Sturm und Drang, Pretty Boys with Cats, and Empresses. I am most likely imaginary, but don't let that stop you.
You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say, “Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.” You call yourself a free spirit, a “wild thing,” and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.Breakfast at Tiffany’s (via heightsofheavendepthsoftheearth)