Nico's Room
Like most things, this reminds me of John Milton

myladymother:

“did it hurt when you fell from heaven” is the most insulting counterproductive pickup line of all time because you know who the only other person to ever fall from heaven was

L U C I F E R   T H E   P R I N C E   O F   D A R K N E S S

(Source: formerlymyladymother, via imperilled)

I’d discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with a certain arrogance, as if you knew perfectly well you were doing it properly, you can get away with it and nobody will think you bad-mannered or poorly brought up. They will think you are original and very witty.
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
Freedom means not to be limited by one’s own nature
Journeys of a Sufi Musician, Kudsi Erguner
In college, I used to underline sentences that struck me, that made me look up from the page. They were not necessarily the same sentences the professors pointed out, which would turn up for further explication on an exam. I noted them for their clarity, their rhythm, their beauty and their enchantment. For surely it is a magical thing for a handful of words, artfully arranged, to stop time. To conjure a place, a person, a situation, in all its specificity and dimensions. To affect us and alter us, as profoundly as real people and things do.
Jhumpa Lahiri, My Life’s Sentences (via azspot)

(via awritersruminations)

Women must have spunks to live in this wicked world.
Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys
a touch is enough to let us know
we’re not alone in the universe, even in sleep
Adrienne Rich, “Twenty-One Love Poems, XII”
February 3-9
  • Dressed for success
  • Thomas’s visit to Kenyon! The grand tour. 
  • Gallery Hop: Bodega, Cup O Joe, Turkish earrings, the Periodic Table table, & Jennifer Boland hats
     
  • How I Met Your Mother & Champagne & late night pizza; calling the bluff
  • Superbowl XLVI with Tortilla Pizza, Bling Cupcakes, and Red Solo Cups
  • Planned the event “Nicolyn’s Lonely Hearts Club” coming February 14
  • My new bed fellow: The Oxford Companion to Wine 
     
  • Wednesday: Vodka Blush, as seen in Rosemary’s Baby, a film for WGS seminar this week. 
     
  • Illness! Ugh. 

Weekend Wishlist:

  • getting well
  • Fandango: drinking wine with professors, dressing pretty, 100 days til graduation!
  • Muppet Party?
  • Black, White, and Red all over ball
  • workworkwork
  • champagne (pending that I get well)
Three quarters of the world belongs to those who dare.
On Feminism and Nationalism: Kartini’s Letters to Stella Zeehandelaar 1899-1903
We say that we cannot bear our troubles but when we get to them we bear them.
Daughter of Han: The Autobiography of A Chinese Working Woman, Ida Pruitt
It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at the bottom. Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual fife upon another: each leaves the passionate lover, or no less the passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his subject. Philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow.
The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Mara, I’m reminiscing about Eugene (and Ellen). <3
travelthisworld:

Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey

Mara, I’m reminiscing about Eugene (and Ellen). <3

travelthisworld:

Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey

(via imperilled)

If an individual is not an author, what are we to make of those things [s/he] has written or said, left behind among [her/his] papers or communicated to others?
Michel Foucault, “What is an Author?”
» How Many Slaves Work for You?

This came up in seminar today. Check it out. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With stores of ladies whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
"L’Allegro," John Milton
We choose our favorite author as we do our friend, from a conformity of humour and disposition. Mirth or passion, sentiment or reflection; whichever of these most predominates in our temper, it gives us particular sympathy with the writer who resembles us
David Hume, “Of the Standard of Taste”
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