reading a romance novel where the protagonist feels the need to stop and inform that audience that it's okay for her, a 27 year old, to hook up with a 31 year old because despite the age difference both of their brains are fully developed. the Discourse really has done incalculable damage.
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Thomas Gainsborough (detail)
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““Where there’s life, eh?” WHERE THERE’S LIFE EH WHAT? “There’s hope?” IS THERE? “Right enough.””
— Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man
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Cersei in green…
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“O Italie, the Academie of man-slaughter, the sporting place of murther, the Apothecary-shop of poyson for all Nations: how many kind of weapons hast thou invented for malice?”
— Thomas Nashe, The Unfortunate Traveller
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I know it’s funny to think of Darcy as having resting bitch face for 95% of the book, but please consider:
Elizabeth: roasts Darcy
Darcy (SMILINGLY): 😍😍😭😭💯👌👌💖💗💓
Bonus:
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Ok, I'm perplexed. Why should Crime and Punishment be dark academia? Isn't an academic setting a basic requirement for a book to be considered dark academia?
Can’t decide on what would be the most cursed take on Crime and Punishment, Tumblr style:
a. Dostoyevsky must be #canceled bc he apparently thought that literal murderers could be redeemable in the eyes of God and men
OR
b. Crime and Punishment is actually dark academia bc the protagonist is a student who kills someone
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tweet//book
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Cover and interior illustrations for Diana Wynne Jones’ Howl’s Moving Castle.
Available as prints on INPRNT
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—to put such thoughts into my head is like showing poor outcast Cain a fair glimpse of Paradise.
Charlotte Bronte, Villette
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“Such scenes were her triumphs—she was the child of pleasure. Work or suffering found her listless and dejected, powerless and repining; but gaiety expanded her butterfly’s wings, lit up their gold-dust and bright spots, made her flash like a gem, and flush like a flower. At all ordinary diet and plain beverage she would pout; but she fed on creams and ices like a humming-bird on honey-paste: sweet wine was her element and sweet cake her daily bread. Ginevra lived her full life in a ball-room; elsewhere she drooped dispirited.”
— Charlotte Bronte, Villette
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