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Sun, 21st of September
  :)   him   with 59,437 notes
Sun, 21st of September

I just went to a pole-dancing class and omigod that’s the most fun I’ve ever had in a 1-hour period in my life

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Sun, 21st of September
  with 1,466 notes
Sun, 21st of September
❝ People exist for the sole purpose of tracking down the intellect and annihilating it. ❞
—   Thomas Bernhard, Concrete   —
  thomas bernhard   lit   misanthropy   currently reading   with 2 notes
Sun, 21st of September
❝ She was all for scenery—yes; but she wanted it human and personal, and all she could say was that there would be in London—wouldn’t there?—more of that kind than anywhere else. ❞
—   Henry James, The Wings of the Dove   —
  henry james   london   lit   victorian literature   currently reading   with 2 notes
Sat, 20th of September
❝ Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned. ❞
—   James Joyce, Ulysses    —
  james joyce   ulysses   with 48 notes
Sat, 20th of September

spaghetti + fresh bread + the wings of the dove by henry james + a city-lights view (not pictured)

life is wonderful

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Sat, 20th of September
❝ Home is where I take up such a tiny portion of the memory foam; home is a splintered word. His pillow is a sweat-stained map of an escape plot, also a map of love’s dear abandon. (When did he give way, at which breath?) Forgiveness may mean retroactively abandoning the pillow and abandoning the photograph of someone with curious eyes, kissing my toes, poolside. I paint my toes Big Apple Red. I don’t know what to do about the shock of red nails on clean, white tiles except get used to it. (And when he gave way, was there room for feelings or the words for feelings?) While I brush my teeth, I can see him in my periphery at the other sink. The outline of him lulls and stings. (And when he gave way, was it the end or the beginning of suffering?) I draw his profile near, I make him brush his teeth with me, he spits and makes a mess. I could love another face, but why? ❞
—   Karen Green, Bough Down    —
Sat, 20th of September
  with 14,127 notes
Sat, 20th of September
❝ New York was vast, New York was startling, with strange histories, with wild cosmopolite backward generations that accounted for anything; and to have got nearer the luxuriant tribe of which the rare creature was the final flower, the immense extravagant unregulated cluster, with free-living ancestors, handsome dead cousins, lurid uncles, beautiful vanished aunts, persons all busts and curls, preserved, though so exposed, in the marble of famous French chisels—all this, to say nothing of the effect of closer growths of the stem, was to have had one’s small world-space both crowded and enlarged. ❞
—   Henry James, The Wings of the Dove   —
  henry james   lit   victorian literature   currently reading   with 6 notes
Sat, 20th of September
  cosmos   space   with 121,238 notes
Sat, 20th of September

honeychurch:

Seamus Heaney’s last words: ”Don’t be afraid” (Noli timere), painted by Dublin artist Maser

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Sat, 20th of September

Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark

  willa cather   :)   with 495 notes
Sat, 20th of September

newyorker:

Though Virginia Woolf breezily dismissed her contemporaries, her work owes a debt to authors including Edith Wharton, John Colapinto writes:

"Something from ‘The Age of Innocence’ seems to have reverberated in Woolf’s mind when she sat down to write her own most famous novel, even if it was only the central image of the lighthouse, which, as readers of ‘The Age of Innocence’ know, is a key symbol on which Wharton’s novel also turns.

Above: Virginia Woolf, 1925. Photograph from Hulton Archive / Getty

  virginia woolf   edith wharton   ayyy   with 266 notes
Sat, 20th of September

Lawrence Durrell, Justine

  lawrence durrell   with 775 notes