Simone de Beauvoir c. 1966:“Do not try to struggle by means of words: if words are uttered they can never be forgotten again and perhaps they may make life impossible for ever: one must accept anguish without resistance; let it wring one’s heart and dry one’s throat, without forming a single thought.”
The Beatles and Brian Epstein (and Brian’s butler/housekeeper - Lonnie Trimble) getting ready and having breakfast at Whaddon House before they go to to collect their MBEs on the 26th October 1965. The last photo is credited by Getty as the Beatles in the lift at Whaddon House, on their way to the palace.
Pics: Philippe Le Tellier / Getty Images / Mirrorpix
Claude Monet, Impression, soleil levant, 1872 VS René Magritte, Le banquet, 1958 VS Claude Monet, Étretat, soleil couchant, 1883 VS René Magritte, Le soir qui tombe, 1964 VS Claude Monet, Soleil d'hiver à Lavacourt, 1879-1880 VS René Magritte, Le Monde des Images, 1961 VS Claude Monet, Soleil couchant sur la Seine à Lavacourt, effet d’hiver, 1880 VS René Magritte, Le banquet, 1957
Your resentment of the past is actually projecting into your tomorrow. The feeling of resentment, anger, hurt, are all active emotions just like happiness. When you feel that emotion though, you are going to encounter more reasons to feel like that in the future.
And he himself – was he actually the same man? He, the poor man, was rich; he, the abandoned, had a family; he, the despairing, was to marry Cosette. It seemed to him that he had traversed a tomb, and that he had entered into it black and had emerged from it white, and in that tomb the others had remained. At certain moments, all these beings of the past, returned and present, formed a circle around him, and overshadowed him; then he thought of Cosette, and recovered his serenity; but nothing less than this felicity could have sufficed to efface that catastrophe.
almost as if summoned, the blond emerges from the kitchen, wearing the maroon crop-top he blatantly stole from Courfeyrac and a pair of Combeferre’s pajama pants that are far too long for his legs, somehow managing to scowl and look bored at the same time as he eats black olives out of the can. [x]
cleaned up my warm up sketch from this morning; i read elle dameferre’s courferre exchange fic last night and it was REALLY GOOD and deserves a lot more fanart than just my shitty need to draw enjolras in a crop top but win some lose some u know??
I feel like we, the les mis fandom, are just a bunch of seniors sitting on comfortable sofa, looking at other fandoms with soft smiles, exchanging pictures and histories about our dear grandchildren and playing bingo, plotting about our past adventures during the battle of Waterloo and complaining about our complicated but loving relationship with our husband Victor Hugo.