A workspace filled with recent gifts: a monogrammed notebook, a ceramic coffee scoop, a book of home-made recycled paper, double-walled glasses. I’m v lucky to have friends who understand how much I love stationery, especially considering how much time we are all going to be spending at home in the coming weeks. 🥰
“Cicero hesitated, but on 12 November 44 BC he sent his last surviving letter to Atticus. His final words strike an ominous conclusion to the collection: ‘adsum igitur’. They mean ‘I am present’.”
— Kathryn Tempest, Cicero (via marcvscicero)
Grief is the only proof that I love and I love well. Love and grief are actually intertwined with each other and as "Akif Kichloo" once wrote, "the opposite of grief is not laughter or happiness or joy. It is love. It is love. It is love."
"Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price."
– Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior
Ruslana Korshunova, for Jenny Packham FW05
― Salma Deera, Letters From Medea
[text ID: The centre of every poem is this: / I have loved you. / I have had to deal with that.]
also. thinking constantly about how astyanax's name is really scamandrius but so many of us know him as astyanax (the lord of the city) because that's what everyone called him, because hector was his father, hector who protected the city. his father named him scamandrius after the river scamander, but everyone called him little lord, because they held the hope that one day he would come to rule.
i am stuck in an eternal state of yearning in which i romanticise and fantasise about all the lovers and lives i will never experience.
I need several hours of Quiet Time each day or i become the worst person alive
Quality control checking the new Beatles “Rubber Soul” LP at EMI 1965.
the inherent romanticism of being thought of.
“When Dante Gabriel Rossetti read the novel Wuthering Heights, he wrote to a friend: “The action takes place in Hell, but the places, I don’t know why, have English names.””
— Jorge Luis Borges, “Julio Cortazar, Stories” from Prologues to a Personal Library.
Literature is the window to the soul.
As co-head of non fiction for The Teeming Mass (!) I am currently working on a lil essay, a sort of editor’s letter–– on the word ‘crisis’, hopeful utopias and the political necessity of art.
We’re not quite live yet but we will be taking submissions for publication, details will be published shortly on theteemingmass.com
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’, tr. David Constantine
