“Monday—why was it even a day of the week?”
—The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride, Linda Broday
occasionally subtle

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Today's Document
Mike Driver

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
we're not kids anymore.
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Xuebing Du
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

JVL
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Claire Keane
will byers stan first human second
styofa doing anything
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titsay
Monterey Bay Aquarium

PR's Tumblrdome
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@every-first-sentence
“Monday—why was it even a day of the week?”
—The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride, Linda Broday
“Death, in this forsaken place, could come in countless forms.”
-Deception Point, Dan Brown
“I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air.”
-Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins
When I was a girl, my father told me the story of two cranes who set out to fly across the world together to fulfill their destinies.
The Commoner, John Burnham Schwartz
There is no lack of drama in my life, I have more than enough three-ring-circus material for writing, but even so, I always approach the seventh of January with trembling.
The Sum of Our Days, Isabel Allende
It was my last day of freedom.
The Jewel of Medina, Sherry Jones
The end of the world will arrive, say the mendicant preachers, on the first of January 1500; God can no longer bear the deeds of evil men and will strike them down.
The Scarlet Contessa, Jeanne Kalogridis
A hard gale blew in off the Atlantic at dusk, west by south, raising a steep, breaking sea.
Under Enemy Colors, S. Thomas Russell
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
Dear sir, I have no way of knowing if this letter will reach you, as the distance between us is so very far and so very troublesome.
The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket
Black crape covered the windows of the house.
Liszt’s Kiss, Susanne Dunlap
Looking back now, I see it more as an act of pride than kindness that my father brought the young painter back with him from the North that spring.
The Birth of Venus, Sarah Dunant
She had been running for four days now, a harum-scarum tumbling flight through passages and tunnels.
Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere
I woke this morning with a stranger in my bed.
Falling Angels, Tracy Chevalier
What is art?
The Bradshaw Variations, Rachel Cusk
Sleeping on the roof in the summer is customary in Tehran.
Rooftops of Tehran, Mahbod Seraji
"He murdered his first duchess with his own hands, they say," the Ferrarese hairdressing-woman whispered as she braided a string of pearls into my hair.
The Second Duchess, Elizabeth Loupas