DEAR READER
#extradirty
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@theartofmadeline
Origami Around
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
ojovivo
if i look back, i am lost
$LAYYYTER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
JVL
Sade Olutola
🪼
Stranger Things
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Acquired Stardust
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oozey mess
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seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Hungary
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Iraq
seen from Mexico
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Austria
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Taiwan
seen from Israel
@causing-a-ruckus
For the first time, Scarlett was glad there was such a person as Belle Watling. Glad there was some other place than this house to shelter Rhett until his glittering, murderous mood had passed. That was wrong, being glad a husband was at the house of a prostitute, but she couldn't help it. She would be almost glad if he were dead, if it meant she would not have to see him tonight.
Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
... she was permitting herself the luxury she had often dreamed--of doing exactly what she pleased and telling people who didn't like it to go to hell.
Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
Death and taxes and childbirth! There's never any convenient time for any of them!
Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind
Pride! Pride tastes awfully good, especially when the crust is flaky and you put meringue on it
Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind
Why, why, her mind stuttered, I believe women could manage everything in the world without men's help--except having babies, and God knows, no woman in her right mind would have babies if she could help it.
Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind
We have art in order not to die from the truth.
Nietzsche
But /depression/ wasn't the word. This was a plunge encompassing sorrow and revulsion far beyond the personal: a sick, drenching nausea at all humanity and human endeavor from the dawn of time. The writhing loathsomeness of the biological order. Old age, sickness, death. No escape for anyone. Even the beautiful ones were like soft fruit about to spoil. And yet somehow people still kept fucking and breeding and popping out new fodder for the grave, producing more and more new beings to suffer like this was some kind of redemptive, or good, or even somehow morally admirable thing: dragging more innocent creatures into the lose-lose game. Squirming babies and plodding, complacent, hormone-drugged moms. /Oh, isn't he cute? Awww./ Kids shouting and skidding in the playground with no idea what future Hells awaited them: boring jobs and ruinous mortgages and bad marriages and hair loss and hip replacements and lonely cups of coffee in an empty house and a colostomy bag at the hospital. Most people seemed satisfied with the thin decorative glaze and the artful stage lighting that, sometimes, made the bedrock atrocity of the human predicament look somewhat more mysterious or less abhorrent. People gambled and golfed and planted gardens and traded stocks and had sex and bought new cars and practiced yoga and worked and prayed and redecorated their homes and got worked up over the news and fussed over their children and gossiped about their neighbors and pored over restaurant reviews and founded charitable organizations and supported political candidates and attended the U.S. Open and dined and travelled and distracted themselves with all kinds of gadgets and devices, flooding themselves incessantly with information and entertainment from every direction to try to make themselves forget it: where we were, what we were. But in a strong light there was no good spin you could put on it. It was rotten top to bottom. Putting your time in at the office; dutifully spawning your two point five; smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bedsheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better never to have been born--never to have wanted anything, never to have hoped for anything.
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
Saltpeter
[ ... ] that was a lesson learned at the expense of all too many of [that] generation, a generation half afraid that all the insidious white stereotypes contained a term of truth, a generation mired in the self-hatred that was bigotry's most monstrous crime, more damaging than a laundry list of physical indignities because it amounted to a mental rape, a theft of personal dignity.
Dorothy West, The Wedding
The flower of the South had rotted in the slime of slavery, the root no substance to the stalk, and the stalk suddenly obscenely ejaculating until it lay limp and self-abused in a burial of petals.
Dorothy West, The Wedding
The dance was a fashionable charity affair in a fashionable hotel downtown that had found, after years of viewing them with alarm, that colored people with money spent more of their money than whites with more money to spend.
Dorothy West, The Wedding
Matt Adrian
