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#english literature

What do you do?

What you do when you feel like your dreams are being crushed?

When the person that told you to go for it just takes them away?

What happens when the person you love the most ask you to lose yourself again?

Who am I to say no?

Am I allowed to be selfish?

I need to think about everything

Making everyone happy

Taking care of everyone

What happens when you feel so trapped that you just don’t know what to do anymore?

Is someone in there?

Can I trust you?

Can I tell you how much I feel right now?

Is it ok to numb your feelings to the point where you don’t care anymore?

Am I allowed to be a robot and just be in automatic?

Or I should feel a wave of desperation every time something happens

Omg giving up on thinking

I’ll just be a machine, is what people want now a days isn’t it?

Just people that work with no feelings or anything else

How can I call for help?

Everyone is so tired of me being so bad all the time

I should just disappear of their life

People will be happier and less emotional exhaustion

I am crying to sleep a long time ago

Did you noticed?

Because I didn’t

I’m so used to being overwhelmed all the time

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‘If,’ by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you  
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,  
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;  
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;  
   If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;  
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;  
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
   And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  
   Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
   With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,  
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,  
   And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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As soon as we put something into words, we devalue it in a strange way. We think we have plunged into the depths of the abyss, and when we return to the surface, the drop of water on our pale fingertips, no longer resembles the sea from which it comes. We delude ourselves that we have discovered a wonderful treasure trove, and when we return to the light of day we find that we have brought back only false stones and shards of glass; and yet the treasure goes on glimmering in the dark, unaltered.


-Maurice Maeterlinck, from The Treasure of the Humble, trans. Alfred Sutro

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“Wish I could tell you by now that I felt more indifferent…Catch myself thinking about you more than I should”

~Gracie Abrams (Stay)

“If you ever foolishly forget : I am never not thinking of you”

~Virginia Woolf

Me *confused* : Should I be proud of something like this or just regret it ??

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Two books arrived today!

Into The London Fog is a (mostly) short story collection, and it has stories from Virginia Woolf, Elizabeth Bowen, Edith Nesbit and Arthur Machen, among others.

Decadence: A Literary Anthology has a wider variety of things, covering the 1870s-1900, with some earlier work to set the scene. It’s a lot of Dowson, Symons, Yeats, and Crowley, with others, and a Lot of Beardsley art. I’m shocked there’s no extracts from Under The Hill, but there we are. There’s also startlingly few women, but there you are.

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Wait ! I just realised, I have been sad for no reason. I don’t even know the cause of my *sappy self*. 😂😂

How funnier could it get, I am literally seeking attention from myself…Lmao. If you haven’t ever, worry not, thou shalt get to it some fine day.

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John Keats - famous quotes but with the word ‘babe’ at the end :

  • A thing of beauty is a joy forever babe
  • Touch has a memory babe
  • I have so much of you in my heart babe
  • Love is my religion babe
  • The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest babe
  • My love has made me selfish, I cannot breathe without you babe
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Wilde in America by David M. Friedman
Art wasn’t Wilde’s only conversation subject, especially not at the parties he was so eager to attend. To ensure he kept getting those invitations, he perfected a verbal trick; replacing a word in a sentence with its natural opposite. This sleight of tongue enabled him to take subjects that others deemed serious and treated them irreverently, or take matters that others thought trivial and treat them with great solemnity- producing amusement either way. This made Wilde not just a well-dressed occupant of a seat at a dinner table. It made him a veritable bon mot machine:
“I can resist everything except temptation.” “If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out.” “Don’t be led astray down the path of virtue.” “Only shallow people do not judge by appearances.” “I can sympathise with everything except suffering.” “True friends stab you in the front.”
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Wilde In America: Build Your Brand by David M. Friedman

One night [Oscar Wilde] appeared at the artist Louise Jopling’s studio wearing a live snake around his neck. Even without an exotic scarf, Wilde used fashion to present himself as a work of art. His typical uniform was a bespoke black frock coat with a daisy or carnation in his lapel buttonhole, enlivened by a brightly flowered waistcoat over a solid-coloured silk shirt, usually cream, with a white cravat held in place by an antique intaglio amethyst pin, all of it over light-coloured trousers and polished black boots. He would hold a walking stick in one hand, leaving the other free to carry pale lavender gloves, items whose primary function was to punctuate, with a well-timed flick, his remarks, which were legion, and before long, legendary.

Despite his excellence fashion sense, Wilde knew he could never be a living work of visual art in the same manner as Miss Bernhardt or Mrs. Langtry, who, after all, were professional beauties. So he would be what he could be: a living work of conversational art. He could talk beautifully about beauty, and he soon realised this skill was much prized by the blue-blooded women who were true gatekeepers of London's society. So what if much of it was lifted from Ruskin’s lectures at Oxford or from Pater’s writings? His listeners didn’t know that, and even more to the point, Ruskin and Pater were not available to serve as their guides to the art world, and Wilde was.

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Nobody looks bad when they’re smiling.

If anyone ever tells you that you look bad when you smile, smile until you outshine the bad from the good. Smile until you’re happy. Cuz you look beautiful.

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