enchantingfiresong

[enchantingfiresong]

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢—𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑—𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜.

[enchantingfiresong]

To read in such places would be like living the best life

[enchantingfiresong]

"What, like it's hard?!"

I recently re-watched Legally Blonde. And oh dear, I love that movie. People often compare it to Barbie, I don't think it hits off the points like Barbie does at places. It's so much about an individual's journey to being love of their own life than anyone else's. Elle is the ultimate stereotype-breaker. Unperplexed and unparalleled.

[enchantingfiresong]

"All I want is nothing more,

To hear you knocking at my door"

[enchantingfiresong]

This movie, aahhh

You couldn't buy her, though, that's what's killing you, isn't it? Steff? That's it, Steff. She thinks you're shit. And deep down, you know she's right.

Pretty in Pink, 1986

[enchantingfiresong]

Read a little, paint sometimes.

Life can't be contained in words, can it?

— Susan Sontag, from “Death Kit,” (1967) (via lunamonchtuna)

[enchantingfiresong]

I've been reading Sidney, I've been reading Shelly, I've been reading Arnold. All of them were fighting battles to save the honour of literature. Poetry is of value, pleasurable and didactic. Poets are the prophets and legislators, they "nothing affirm", they lie the least as they come with the disclaimer: ''tis fiction y'all'. But, nothing's changed even good 4-5 centuries later.

Why do you study literature they ask. How does it add 'value'? I don't often have the energy to reply, I just put on a smile.

The other day, my friend, from law texted me to say how Dostoevsky destroyed her. Another, a physicist, can't believe if the world is real after reading Orwell. This is enough for me to realise, let them think whatever they want, we actually won the war long back.

[enchantingfiresong]

Paradox in the making। Like a whisper of wind in the catacomb।

Rocío Romero García

[enchantingfiresong]

Oh my, I feel the storm

Refuge before a Storm

1880

Paul Merwart (Polish 🇵🇱, 1855-1902)

[enchantingfiresong]

In my dreams I dwell in these halls. As I sip my cup of hot tea, leaves plucked from a distant land, I gaze into your eyes. Your eyes, oh your eyes. I die a little every time.