Latest Posts by gothphrodite - Page 5
“I lived in a house in Moscow once, where the beams and floorboards were made from an old ship’s timbers. When there was a storm at sea, the timbers used to creak and groan, even though the air around the house was quite still. The house was very old, and those timbers hadn’t been near the sea for a hundred years or more, but still they remembered. In their dreams they heard it sing.”
— Cynthia Harrod-Eagles, Anna (via countcracula)
Virginia Woolf photographed by Gisèle Freund, 1939 / portrait of Virginia Woolf by Vanessa Bell, 1934
“I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn’t even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn’t talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.”
— Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years (via crowsummer)
“As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation, just as a cellist playing a Bach suite participates, note by note, in the creation, the coming-to-be, the existence, of the music. And, as you read and re-read, the book of course participates in the creation of you, your thoughts and feelings, the size and temper of your soul.”
— Ursula K. Le Guin (via wordsaredelicious)
When we un-packed it, the Paris curator was embarrassed to discover lipstick marks on its cheek: someone in the Louvre had played at being Pygmalion—or Hadrian—and kissed it. And who could blame them? Up on a pedestal, center stage, the effect of its beauty was jaw-dropping.
I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because “romantic” doesn’t mean “sugary”. It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.
Catherine Breillat (via mermaidveins)
Through the pursuit of beauty we shape the world as a home, and in doing so we both amplify our joys and find consolation for our sorrows.
Sir Roger Scruton, Why Beauty Matters
me talking to a man: i know. i know. yeah i know. i know. i’m aware. yes i already know that
*forgives myself for the moments I've acted outside my values due to fear and uncertainty*
“A thought occurred to me today – so obvious, so always obvious! It was absurd to suddenly comprehend it for the first time – I felt rather giddy, a little hysterical: – There is nothing, nothing that stops me from doing anything except myself… What is to prevent me from just picking up and taking off?”
— Susan Sontag, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963
“It’s not ‘natural’ to speak well, eloquently, in an interesting articulate way. People living in groups, families, communes say little–have few verbal means. Eloquence–thinking in words–is a byproduct of solitude, deracination, a heightened painful individuality.”
— Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh (via the-book-diaries)
im like a religious art piece. grotesque, haunting, full of melodrama and guilt and unsettlingly horny.
I got these gorgeous Waterhouse mugs and I never want to drink tea from anything else ☕🌹
If there is one thing us girls like, it’s to run a bath with lots of indulgent products just to disassociate and stare at the ceiling for two hours smelling of roses….
