Sappho by Jules Joseph Lefebvre (Early 20th Century)
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Oh to be a pretty boy in the 1900s.
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"I never wish to be easily defined. I'd rather float over other people's minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable; more like a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual person."
-Franz Kafka (diary of March 24th 1914)
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Trees die differently than people. Trees look as if they enjoyed their dying. It's true, spring will return and again they will burst into bloom. But as you well know, one can never be sure. And how can trees know that? Surely for them every fall is the last one.
Halina Poświatowska, Story for a Friend
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“Taylor Swiss”. 🤣
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"I may pander to the simple tastes of theatrical critics and cook up a stage play, an old–fashioned Melodrama with three principals: a lunatic who intends to kill an imaginary king, another lunatic who imagines himself to be that king, and a distinguished old poet who stumbles by chance into the line of fire, and perishes in the clash between the two figments."
— Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire, 1962
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"Allen Ginsberg in front of the window"
Photo by Anton Corbijn, New York (1996)
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I’m going to start posting more on tumblr so should anyone have any ideas about what i should post, let me know.
I’ll post anything about The Beatles, Queen, Led Zeppelin, The Marauders, 19th-20th fashion and history, dead poets society, Withnail and I and the love of my life, George Harrison.
I won’t post any fanart (because I can’t draw for shit) or anything that might upset people.
And most definitely no NSFW. Thats just dead grotty (see what I did there, Beatles fans?)
I’ll do ships and stuff.
Sorry this is utterly random.
But Please do let me know
:))))))
OMG AND I WILL TRY TO POST A MEME A DAY
I got this one from pinterest:
I can’t remember who the account was so apologies but if you see this and it’s yours lmk and I’ll put the credits in.
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going back to my roots (epistolary historical aus that are just ridiculously fluffy. overly so.) this time anderperry version!
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"Let us go forth together to the spring:
Love must be this, if it be anything."
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay, sonnet xxviii
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They will tell you nothing / worse about me, my love, / than what I told you. / I lived in the meadows / before I knew you / and I did not wait for love but lay / in ambush and jumped upon the rose.
-The Captain’s Verses (1952) by Pablo Neruda
Ode and Burgeonings/Oda Y Germinaciones
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I have a little notebook that has this painting decorating its front cover. I always carry it with me to write down any and every word that the day conceives. Sometimes it's a phrase that morphs into a title or full verse. Sometimes I write full poems. Sometimes I write nothing at all. Even so, it's comforting to feel its weight in my messenger bag knowing that I have my studio with me wherever I go...
Desde mi estudio (Salud 58, Ponce)/View from My Studio (Salud 58, Ponce) by Miguel Pou y Becerra (1880-1968). Oil on cardboard. Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico (MAPR).
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The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise; like diseases that are treated superficially and foolishly, they just withdraw and after a short interval break out again all the more terribly; and gather inside us and are life, are life that is unlived, rejected, lost, life that we can die of.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
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"Let laureates sing with rapturous swing
Of the wonder and glory of work;
Let pulpiteers preach and with passion impeach
The indolent wretches who shirk.
No doubt they are right: in the stress of the fight
It's the slackers who go to the wall;
So though it's my shame I perversely proclaim
It's fine to do nothing at all.
It's fine to recline on the flat of one's spine,
With never a thought in one's head:
It's lovely to le staring up at the sky
When others are earning their bread.
It's great to feel one with the soil and the sun,
Drowned deep in the grasses so tall;
Oh it's noble to sweat, pounds and dollars to get,
But; it's grand to do nothing at all.
So sing to the praise of the fellows who laze
Instead of lambasting the soil;
The vagabonds gay who lounge by the way,
Conscientious objectors to toil.
But lest you should think, by this spatter of ink,
The Muses still hold me in thrall,
I'll round out my rhyme, and (until the next time)
Work like hell; doing nothing at all."
--Laziness, Robert William Service
I am still jet-lagged, and I've caught a violent cold, returning from warmer climes; thus I can say, without any shame, I am thoroughly enjoying a little laziness!
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I now bless you with what might be the only surviving photograph of Radclyffe Hall smiling (that I could find and I looked).
Una smiles more often, but Hall almost never does, from what I found.
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It's because you're never going to recover from loving him
It's because there's always going to be a spasm of control that chokes your words.
You will never recover from loving him.
You will not recognise yourself without him.
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