Milhouse: Boy, Bart, Laddie's the best dog in the world. He's a lot different than your old dog.
Bart: Santa's Little Helper? I guess I was the only one who loved him.
Milhouse: You got that right. Remember the time Santa's Little Helper ate my goldfish, and you lied and said I never had any goldfish? Well, why did I have the bowl, Bart? Why did I have the bowl?
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This one's for my wife.
Pretty nighttime photos: http://wearesleepinggiants.com/
Believe it or not, this is Abraham Lincoln...probably. He's in his early thirties here.
Numerous accounts have revealed that Lincoln underwent a noticeable change in his physical appearance beginning in January 1841 as a result of a grave emotional crisis. This coincides with his reported failure to go through with his scheduled marriage to Mary Todd, leaving her literally waiting for him at the altar. (They were married the following year.) This emotional crisis, just one of a series of such episodes to plague him throughout his life, was the cause of Lincoln losing a considerable amount of weight.
Young Lincoln was known to be muscular and extremely powerful. The older Lincoln was much thinner, and also prematurely aged by personal problems and the responsibility and anguish of the office he held during perhaps the greatest crisis the United States has ever undergone.(via kottke)
There's something sweetly serene and sincere about street photography.
Martha Cooper's long and beautiful career is getting some recognition here. She's worked with National Geographic and New York Post among others. She's most well-known for her documentation of New York's graffiti culture in the 1970s and '80s.
These are not photos. They were painted in oils.
I was listening to this earlier tonight and almost had a heart attack. I was cackling like a stoned witch at this track.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.— Lord Byron