In honor of dearest William’s birthday: Sonnet 18 read by Tom Hiddleston.

6 hours ago
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"All Asians look alike." Uhh it’s not true but let’s be honest for a second, when white people say that you shouldn’t get mad, because we honestly can’t expect them to tell the difference. I can’t even tell white people apart." (x)


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1 day ago
54,691 notes


THANK! i’ve been waiting for this <3

I crush so hard on her and Abbi; it’s ridiculous. 

(Source: scarerants, via bookoisseur)

2 days ago
125,045 notes

lionheart191 asked: When you finish a story, whether it be a novel or a short story, how do you decide what stays in the story and what doesn't? I find it hard when I start the editing process, because there will be times in certain moods where I really like something, and in others where I just want to eradicate it from existence.


I look askance at big blocks of prose. Those are places where attention wanders and the reader’s excitement begins to cool. I don’t care how good a sentence might be… we’ve got to keep moving. Hemingway said kill your darlings, but I try not to have darlings at all, and kill at will.

This is probably not terribly helpful. But I guess try and find one sentence in every paragraph that says the thing the reader needs to know to get to the next paragraph. Then see about deleting everything else. Maybe you can’t delete everything else. But you’d be shocked at how much can go.

There were a lot of sentences in Max Berry’s LEXICON that gave me an electric shock of pleasure. One was just: “A thin dog scratched in the dirt.” That was enough to show me a whole dusty, sandy, barren landscape of trailers, cars on cinder blocks, empty sidewalks, loneliness. One little sentence that carried a whole widescreen picture.

Try and find that thin dog, and skip everything else.

2 days ago
443 notes



Visit Rapture!

Step 1: Stare at the centre dot for 30 seconds.

imageStep 2: Look at any of these 5 pictures.






Step 3: Enjoy!


(Source: howdoifly, via bookoisseur)

3 days ago
76,624 notes

"The World Is Too Much With Us" by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
In honor of Earth Day!
1 day ago
3 notes

"Rape Poem to End All Rape Poems"-Justine Hehir, Lindsey Michelle Williams, Kate Thomas, and Lillie Hannon

1 day ago
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"To the Boys Who May One Day Date My Daughter"-Jesse Parent

2 days ago
7 notes

"Easter, 1916" by Wiiliam Butler Yeats

I have met them at close of day   
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey   
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head   
Or polite meaningless words,   
Or have lingered awhile and said   
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done   
Of a mocking tale or a gibe   
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,   
Being certain that they and I   
But lived where motley is worn:   
All changed, changed utterly:   
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent   
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers   
When, young and beautiful,   
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school   
And rode our wingèd horse;   
This other his helper and friend   
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,   
So sensitive his nature seemed,   
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,   
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,   
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone   
Through summer and winter seem   
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,   
The rider, the birds that range   
From cloud to tumbling cloud,   
Minute by minute they change;   
A shadow of cloud on the stream   
Changes minute by minute;   
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,   
And a horse plashes within it;   
The long-legged moor-hens dive,   
And hens to moor-cocks call;   
Minute by minute they live:   
The stone’s in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.   
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part   
To murmur name upon name,   
As a mother names her child   
When sleep at last has come   
On limbs that had run wild.   
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;   
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith   
For all that is done and said.   
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;   
And what if excess of love   
Bewildered them till they died?   
I write it out in a verse—
MacDonagh and MacBride   
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:   
A terrible beauty is born.
3 days ago
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"So We’ll Go No More a Roving" by Lord Byron

So, we’ll go no more a roving
   So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
   And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
   And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
   And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
   And the day returns too soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a roving
   By the light of the moon.
4 days ago
2 notes