The concentration on the face of Jimmy Page and the bulge in the pants of Robert Plant. Magic.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid | 1969
© 20th Century Fox
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view."
— Edgar Allan Poe, Alone (via recognizedsaint)
Fun fact time: many of my old acquaintances still make joking comments whenever they see me wearing pink, because as a child (and honestly pretty much right up to high school) I would refuse to associate with any pink objects.
It wasn’t because I didn’t like pink, it was because since I appeared female I was supposed to/ it was immediately assumed that I did and therefore it pissed me the ever-loving fuck off. I was ashamed to like it, which is terrible because pink is an awesome color. But when you shove it down young girls throats it gets really old, really fast.
Give the child the fucking rainbow, and if they pick pink, it’s not because they are female and/or effeminate, it’s because they like the color pink.
Gentleman: Leonardo passed his umbrella to Elizabeth Debicki happy to stand in the rain as he protected her designer gown