KOSMOS

“The days grow and the stars cross over
And my wild bed turns slowly among the stars.”

chrysalism

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.

—Vladimir Nabokov (via thegirlandherbooks)

(Source: how-novelistic, via booklover)

I don’t know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.

—Vincent van Gogh (via misswallflower)

(via booklover)

pemberley-state-of-mind:

Mr Darcy! What are you doing here?

Mr. Darcy, I had no idea we had the honour.

Miss Elizabeth, I´m a guest here.

I had the pleasure of meeting your nephew in Hertfordshire.

“I didn´t know how to get Mr. Darcy into the room, so I just had him appear.”

(Joe Wright, Director)

(via fuckyeahjaneites)