“Fiction is usually seen as escapist entertainment, [but] it’s hard to reconcile the escapist theory of fiction with the deep patterns we find in the art of storytelling […]. Our various fictional worlds are—on the whole—horrorscapes. Fiction may temporarily free us from our troubles, but it does so by ensnaring us in new sets of troubles—in imaginary worlds of struggle and stress and mortal woe. […] [This paradox] was first noticed by Aristotle in the Poetics. We are drawn to fiction because fiction gives us pleasure. But most of what is actually in fiction is deeply unpleasant: threat, death, despair, anxiety, Sturm und Drang. […] Literature offers feelings for which we don’t have to pay. It allows us to love, condemn, condone, hope, dread, and hate without any of the risks those feelings ordinarily involve.”
— Jonathan Gottschall, The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human
(via exhaled-spirals)
Absolutely hilarious to me that the ton is gonna be speculating on why and how Penelope and Colin ended up engaged and there’s definitely gonna be some entrapment/pity rumours going around but the actual truth of it is that Colin chased a carriage down, fell to his knees and went “please please please please please please please”
Violet Bridgerton is truly gods strongest soldier. Every season she tells one of her children they're in love and every season they scoff in her face before causing seven different scandals to reach the same conclusion.
These past few weeks have been full of confounding feelings. Feelings like a total inability to stop thinking about you. About that kiss. Feelings like dreaming of you when I'm asleep. And in fact preferring sleep because that is where I might find you. A feeling that is like torture. But one which I cannot, will not, do not want to give up.
Literally one hot carriage hookup and five minutes later:
And no I don’t think love ever leaves because it’s been eight years since my dad died and he is in every thought and hope and dream. and when I think I can’t fix the computer he is here. and when I eat chocolate cake he is here. and when the sun glows at 3pm he is here. and he will always be here because his life made mine, and my life will be his epilogue