Bookishquotish

Quotes, Parallels, Poetry, Lyrics || She/Her || 21

[echoedtranslations]

sometimes I envy the flowers pressed between the pages of my favorite books. oh to be eternally beautiful within the embrace of art

[perfectquote]

“I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.”

— Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

[lehooes]

source

[deleted9999999999]

i love the new york times modern love section.

[somecunttookmyurl]

i can tell i’m sleep deprived bc i just made myself cry about tutankhamun and i have, like, negative interest in the kid

[somecunttookmyurl]

have now made the rest of the discord cry about this little boy who had multi-coloured ducks sewn onto a tunic that he loved so much he wore it to a Very Important Event because he was EIGHT and have you SEEN my DUCKS

[somecunttookmyurl]

sorry no i’m not done i’m gonna make you all cry some more i’m bringing you down with me

there was once a little boy.

he is born disabled. his body hurts, and he can’t walk properly the way the other children do. he doesn’t understand why. he’s a little boy. but he plays with wooden boats and pulls toys on a string.

somebody makes him a tunic. they sew ducks onto it in red and green and yellow and blue. the bright colours of a child.

the little boy is eight years old, and he’s going to be king now. there’s a big ceremony about it. he doesn’t really fully understand what’s going on, because he’s eight, but he wears the tunic with the brightly coloured ducks for the occasion because he loves it. look at his ducks! aren’t they great?

he is a child. the adults around him manipulate and coax him to gain more power for themselves. he still plays with toys.

as a teenager, not yet an adult, he fathers children. they do not survive. he’s not even old enough to have full agency in his job and is still being manipulated, but he had babies and they died.

he does not make it to his twenties. at eighteen or nineteen years old he dies, and is buried. his babies, so tiny, are buried with him.

and so is his tunic with the little ducks that he loved so much he kept it long after it no longer fit.

there was once a little boy.

[somecunttookmyurl]

yeah i think that like. especially with historical figures in your mind people who were kings and queens or important nobles were adults. even if you know how old they were it doesn’t really click. it doesn’t seem real

but then you get something like a little tunic with brightly coloured ducks on it and it hits you like a fucking truck that this really was a little kid and no matter how far removed you are a little kid is still a little kid. their brains didn’t develop any quicker back then. he was just as developed/mature mentally as any 8 year old now. he had cartoonish animals on his clothes and he played with toy boats and probably terrorised the local cat population.

tutankhamun was a child and he didn’t make it to adulthood because he was unfortunate enough to be a very important child

his dad died when he was 8. he saw his own babies die when he was still just a boy himself.

but he had brightly coloured little ducks on his favourite shirt, and he kept it.

[somecunttookmyurl]

and he did not just keep the duckie shirt either

tutankhamun had a little pair of sandals with ducks on them. he had earrings decorated with ducks. he kept those, and other items of childhood clothing. some toys. keepsakes. things he loved, and treasured. he kept them all in a little wooden chest. the chest… was carved with ducks.

and that little duck chest, filled with things he kept from his childhood, was buried with him. maybe he was keeping them for the little babies who did not make it. maybe they just reminded him of good days and fun times.

but he was a little boy who thought ducks were just the best

[somecunttookmyurl]

WITH PLEASURE

(greyscale makes it hard but the duck head is on the right above the toe strap. always takes me a while to find it too)

[beggars-opera]

[redlipstickresurrected]

Fidan Zaman (Azerbaijani, based Baku, Azerbaijan) - Paintings from her travel diary called The Sea, Paintings: Acrylic

[ghibligif]

[thefallenauthor-deactivated2023]

"Each of us has heaven and hell in him."

-Oscar Wilde; The Picture of Dorian Gray

[busy-bizzy-bee]

[thekimonogallery]

Moon Hare Teapot.  A kyūsu (small teapot) made of Arita-yaki (Arita-ware) and hand-painted with the tsuki-no-usagi (moon hare) pattern.  Text and image via Blue Ruin 1 on Flickr

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

–Mary Oliver

[deadpoetwilde]

not 2 sound whiny but i wish more attention was given to the importance of art and literature and philosophy and other humanities again so they'll return to being a really great part of what shapes a decade or an era instead of being seen as useless because they don't fit into the capitalist ideal of a productive society

[flowerytale]

Clarice Lispector — Água Viva

[photomuzik]

[letzternachtzug]

““I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.””

— Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Nighttime   (via just-staring-at-the-stars)

[soracities]

“I do not want to be alone like this. Why have you not come back to haunt me? It is the least I would have expected of you. Why this silence day after day, night after interminable night? It is like a fog, this silence of yours. First it was a blur on the horizon, the next minute we were in the midst of it, purblind and stumbling, clinging to each other…Send back your ghost. Torment me, if you like. Rattle your chains, drag your cerements across the floor, keen like a banshee, anything. I would have a ghost.”

— John Banville, The Sea

[bookishquotish]

"And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!"

-Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

[propertiesofjoy]

rainer maria rilke, letters to a young poet