Emily Brontë — Wuthering Heights
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Edward Robert Hughes (1851-1914), The Princess Out of School, 1901, gouache and watercolour with some scratching out, 52 x 95.3 cm. National Gallery of Victoria
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Details: Boy Blowing Soap Bubbles; Allegory on the Transitoriness and the Brevity of Life, 1663, Karel Dujardin.
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i want to take the harmonies from movement, pulverize them down into a liquid form, and then directly inject it into my heart in my best pulp fiction impression.
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John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne
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John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale
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random lines from john keats’ poetry that routinely make me lose my shit:
‘the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves’ (ode to a nightingale)
‘barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day’ (to autumn)
‘silent, upon a peak in Darien’ (on first looking into chapman’s homer)
‘a rosy sanctuary will i dress / with the wreathed trellis of a working brain’ (ode to psyche)
‘when i behold, upon the night’s starred face, / huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, / and think i may never live to trace / their shadows, with the magic hand of chance’ (when i have fears that i may cease to be)
‘madeleine asleep in lap of legends old’ (the eve of st agnes)
‘but, when i am consumed in the fire, / give me new phoenix wings to fly at my desire’ (on sitting down to read king lear once again)
‘so, if we may not let the muse be free, / she will be bound with garlands of her own’ (if by dull rhymes our english must be chained)
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“You say I killed you- haunt me then!”
-Emily Brönte
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Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
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So Bright and Delicate: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne.
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Franz Kafka ― from The Complete Stories “Absent-minded Window-gazing”
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