/tagged/epic+epic+epic/page/2

ninyako:

photojojo:

We’ll miss you, Steve.

Charis Tsevis created mosaic portraits of Steve Jobs using many images of the Apple CEO’s innovations.

Mosaic Portraits of Steve Jobs

via Good

whoa!

Harry Potter x This is War/30 Seconds To Mars

UGH SO AMAZING!

Okay, this video is GOLD.

Alan Rickman won the MTV Harry Potter World Cup, he thinks his trophy is chocolate and he loves the Potter Puppet Pals.

Alan Rickman – My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Alan Rickman reads Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; 
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare. 

(Source: tiny-sized, via chingisforrealsies)

(Source: theddbanyo)

ninyako:

photojojo:

We’ll miss you, Steve.

Charis Tsevis created mosaic portraits of Steve Jobs using many images of the Apple CEO’s innovations.

Mosaic Portraits of Steve Jobs

via Good

whoa!

Harry Potter x This is War/30 Seconds To Mars

UGH SO AMAZING!

This.:)

This.:)

Okay, this video is GOLD.

Alan Rickman won the MTV Harry Potter World Cup, he thinks his trophy is chocolate and he loves the Potter Puppet Pals.

gingerhaze:

McGonagall is a Badass Comics
Click for big

gingerhaze:

McGonagall is a Badass Comics

Click for big

(via chingisforrealsies)

Four for you, Ateneo! You go, Ateneo!
Alan Rickman – My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Alan Rickman reads Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; 
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare. 

(Source: tiny-sized, via chingisforrealsies)

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