posted: 14/Aug/2014 with 166 notes - reblog?

An Oxford student flipping through a book on sale. England, 1950

An Oxford student flipping through a book on sale. England, 1950

posted: 14/Aug/2014 with 19,466 notes - reblog?

The first page of FRANKENSTEIN, in Mary Shelley’s own handwriting.

The first page of FRANKENSTEIN, in Mary Shelley’s own handwriting.

posted: 13/Aug/2014 with 2,684 notes - reblog?

An Education, 2009

posted: 13/Aug/2014 with 580 notes - reblog?

When Charlotte Brontë was thirteen and her brother, Branwell, was twelve, they designed and wrote a series of tiny books: “Measuring less than one inch by two inches, the books were made from scraps of paper and constructed by hand. Despite their diminutive size, the books contained big adventures, written in ink in careful script.”
For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

When Charlotte Brontë was thirteen and her brother, Branwell, was twelve, they designed and wrote a series of tiny books: “Measuring less than one inch by two inches, the books were made from scraps of paper and constructed by hand. Despite their diminutive size, the books contained big adventures, written in ink in careful script.”

For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

posted: 12/Aug/2014 with 4,040 notes - reblog?
posted: 12/Aug/2014 with 4,327 notes - reblog?

Musetouch, Constantin Lvovich
For you, R. I miss you.- P.L.

Musetouch, Constantin Lvovich

For you, R. I miss you.
- P.L.

posted: 12/Aug/2014 with 591 notes - reblog?


O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            The arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            The arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
posted: 12/Aug/2014 with 6,017 notes - reblog?
posted: 12/Aug/2014 with 6,249 notes - reblog?

I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.

- Robin Williams (1951 - 2014)
posted: 11/Aug/2014 with 126,636 notes - reblog?
posted: 11/Aug/2014 with 152,958 notes - reblog?
© STR-WRS