S U N S E T - Skin by Katherinæ

u › 15 › student › lunatic › vendicative › in love with altair. / next spell › who knows?
About me - Il mio nome è Jennifer, ma odio quando mi si chiama per esteso e preferisco di gran lunga essere chiama Jen, Jenna o semplicemente Ana. Sono nata in spagna, quindi sì, sono spagnola, nonostante non abbia l'accento (MALEDETTO). Dicono che sono una persona molto estroversa, simpatica ed amichevole. Gentile quando voglio. Ma io sò bene che ho anche degli aspetti negativi ad esempio sono molto vedicativa, permalosa e lunatica. Inoltre, sono anche un po' timida ma quando c'è da cacciare il carattere lo caccio. Spero che questo vi abbia aiutato a sapere un po' più di cose su di me, grazie per la visita al portfolio!❝ The most intelligent people disguise the fact that they are intelligent. Wise men do not wear nametags. The more people talk about their own skills, the more desperate they are—their work should speak for itself. ❞		 se sei venuto qui per farti gli affari miei, quella è la porta. prima di presentarti devi aver letto il regolamento e dopo la presentazione verrai aggiunto al gruppo seguaci (sempre se non mi stai sul cavolo). e' vietato copiare/semicopiare/rompere le balls.
current mood: happy / in the future i wanna be: a fucking psychologist
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd!”
diabolik lovers
book of shadow
anaemia project
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