Flowers Are Slowly Dying In My Room

"I don't want to be alone. I need my family."

Bitch, you don't want to live in small apartment by yourself, baking by yourself, reading and listening to your favorite music in peace? Nobody's watching, judging, just silent. That's my fucking dream bro.

GOOD GOD, THAT'S SO ACCURATE

If the Secret History was set nowadays, Bunny would annoy everyone with his duolingo lessons, Henry would physically get sick at the mention of any e-reader, Camilla would be a Lana del rey girly, Richard would listen to "this is me trying" while having insomnia, Charles would be a filmbro and judge anyone who hasn't seen Interstellar and Francis would have a crush on hot priest from Fleabag

when henry winter said that all he ever wanted to do was live without thinking, i felt it on a profound level

“it’s starting to smell like pumpkin spice!”

“it’s starting to smell like scary movies!”

no.

it’s starting to smell like, the snow in the mountains was melting and bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to realize the gravity of our situation.

so unfortunately college isn’t just about performing ancient greek rituals with your friends

cant wait to start feeling normal again I think to myself knowing that i have not once felt normal not at all my whole life not ever

I think we should talk more about the fact that Henry is basically the personification of the "beauty is terror" quote – hence, the concept of the Sublime. Richard found him to be the most beautiful out of the whole group – not in the in the literal sense, obviously, but in the sense that Henry was the one he looked up to, admired and eventually idolized the most out of them. Even after the murder and all that happened afterwards because of him, after finding out how terrifying he could actually be, Richard still couldn't let go of his initial impression of him, and kept on thinking fondly of him despite everything he'd done – and so did all the others. Henry kept them all together, then wronged them so many times, and in the end he still left them all with that lingering ghost of him they were never able to get rid of.

I want to be someone's muse, the object of someone's desires. I want to be something somebody thinks about all day. I want to be painted on a canvas by a painter, to be written in words by a poet. I want to be the inspiration for somebody's art.

Richard Papen, while freezing in a fucking mandolin boutique during the rigid winter of Vermont: California dreamin'... (California... dreamin'...) on such a winter's day...

Entering my Henry Winter era (I have constant migraines and I want to commit crimes)