#Literature aesthetic

[valiumbehaviour]

[thedeadpoets-blog]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

[rainreads]

-Emily Dickinson.

[coffeeacademia]

my hot take of the week is you can either be an english literature person or a russian literature person

[literatureaf]

Feel free to name any favorite not on this list, or see what I already have!

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[lilllium]

— Planetarium, by Adrienne Rich

[solitudeismyeuphoria]

William Wordsworth

Instagram: @solitudeismyeuphoria

[bones-clouds]

"i'm already a ghost, she thought. i died in the hold of a slaver ship."

inej ghafa

six of crows duology leigh bardugo

[home-ward]

What are your summer goals?

Mine are:

Get married and start my husband’s spousal visa process

Finish first draft of my novella

Plan honeymoon for autumn

[edelweiss-maiden]

‛𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 — 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗. 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜, 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗.’

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞 (𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟗)

[notgilderoylockhart]

My rebind of Ethan Hawke’s Rules for a Knight 💚

it’s so shiny ✨

[burningvelvet]

random excerpts from lord byron’s diaries that feel like tumblr posts from the 1800s

“My mind is a fragment.”

“I am too lazy to shoot myself.”

“Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was asked—but not inclined to go any where. Hobhouse says I am growing a ‘loup garou,’ a solitary hobgoblin. True.”

“Sleepy, and must go to bed.”

“Whether ‘Hell will be paved with’ those ‘good intentions,’ I know not.”

“Got up—redde the Morning Post containing [..] a paragraph on me as long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual.”

“I wonder what the devil is the matter with me! I can do nothing, and fortunately there is nothing to do.”

“Last night, party at Lansdowne House. Tonight, party at Lady Charlotte Greville's—deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparted—nothing acquired—talking without ideas:—if any thing like thought in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which we were gabbling. Heigho!—and in this way half London pass what is called life. Tomorrow there is Lady Heathcote's—shall I go? yes—to punish myself for not having a pursuit.”

“What a strange thing is the propagation of life! A bubble of Seed which may be spilt in a whore’s lap – or in the orgasm of a voluptuous dream – might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a Buonaparte.”

“Oh that face!—by te, Diva potens Cypri, I would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another Troy.”

“I have found increasing upon me (without sufficient cause at times) the depression of Spirits (with few intervals), which I have some reason to believe constitutional or inherited.”

“I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d., 1814). Is there any thing in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?”

“Past events have unnerved me; and all I can now do is to make life an amusement, and look on while others play. After all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it?”

“Redde a little—wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke says is bad company. ‘Be not solitary, be not idle.’—Um!—the idleness is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to wither them,—and yet—and yet—always yet and but—‘Excellent well, you are a fishmonger—get thee to a nunnery.’—‘They fool me to the top of my bent.’” (Quotations from Hamlet)

“I wish I could settle to reading again,—my life is monotonous, and yet desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy, and burnt it because the scene ran into reality;—a novel, for the same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts; but the thought always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. I have had a letter from Lady Melbourne—the best friend I ever had in my life, and the cleverest of women.”

“As to opinions, I don't think politics worth an opinion.”

“Tells Dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like Fame to my ears—to be redde on the banks of the Ohio!”

“This journal is a relief. When I am tired—as I generally am—out comes this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor.”

“Mr. Murray has offered me one thousand guineas for The Giaour and The Bride of Abydos. I won't—it is too much, though I am strongly tempted, merely for the say of it. No bad price for a fortnight's (a week each) what?—the gods know—it was intended to be called poetry.”

“I will not be the slave of any appetite. If I do err, it shall be my heart, at least, that heralds the way. Oh, my head—how it aches?—the horrors of digestion! I wonder how Buonaparte's dinner agrees with him?”

“If I had to live over again, I do not Know what I would change in my life, unless it were for not to have lived at all. All history and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years? and those have little of good but their ending.”

[thedeadpoets-blog]

[poseidonscove]

[coffeeacademia]

these are a few of my favourite things (ft summer)