Art Gallery @feuilletonette - Tumblr Blog

Mahmoud Darwish, tr. by Sinan Antoon, from “In The Presence of Absence,”

Be the kind of student who learns with clarity, not chaos. Do not bury yourself under countless hours of studying; choose the right things to focus on and trust that depth matters more than overwhelm. Give yourself the opportunity to breathe in order to comprehend what you’re learning.

Breaks are part of a strategy—sleep, peace, and emotional stability are essential tools and not just mere indulgences. Stay ahead without obsessing. Your mind is something to collaborate and cared for, not something to fight against. No academic achievement is worth sacrificing your sanity.

Know when to step up and step back. Move like someone who can handle responsibility without collapsing. Be intentional with your time, the things you are involved with, and in the commitments you make. It builds trust in yourself and people can sense it. Be dependable but not self-sacrificial. Involved but not overwhelmed. Make your presence sharp.

You study to grow and not destroy yourself. Keep your body nourished, your nervous system soothed, and most importantly, your environment supportive. Aim for intelligence that is rooted in calm, steady, and suistanability. Let it be a reflection of a clever strategy, not suffering.

#academic weapon #dark academia #personal development #that girl #it girl

alchemicalcodes

Anaïs Nin

guulabii

i think love is revolutionary because when done right, it allows for accountability, for growth, for healing, for laughter, for joy, for connection, for touch, for coming home. maybe it is foolish of me, even a little stupid to think of it as such but when done right, when honoured, when fulfilled, when prepared and boiled and served well, it truly does magic, it truly changes lives, it nourishes, it feeds, it gives hope, hope, so much of it.

letsbelonelytogetherr

— via @free-my-mindd

mournfulroses

Charles Baudelaire, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Charles Baudelaire

metamorphesque

to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die

from John Keats’s love letter to Fanny Brawne Tristan and Isolt (Death), Rogelio de Egusquiza The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets over the Dead Bodies of Romeo and Juliet, Frederick Leighton Death of Francesca de Rimini and Paolo Malatesta, Alexandre Cabanel

metamorphesque

— Franz Kafka, The Castle | The Lovers of Valdaro

starryeyeddarlings

writing these are addictive

On the Communion of Curious Minds...

There is a particular kind of nakedness that happens not in the removing of clothes, but in the unwrapping of thoughts—when someone leans across the table, wine forgotten, to ask “But what do you really believe about the soul?” with the intensity others reserve for declarations of love. This is my own form of intimacy: the meeting of two minds barefoot in the territory of ideas, where every exchanged thought is both confession and caress.

We’ve been taught to eroticize the body but sterilize the intellect, as if the most vulnerable thing one can offer isn’t their flesh but their narratives—the half-formed theories whispered at night, the dog-eared passages of novels that shaped your inner world, the way your hands move when you’re trying to shape an image into the language of sight. To be understood in one’s thinking is a deeper penetration than any physical act; to have your metaphors cherished is a more profound surrender.

The ancients knew this. Socrates tracing concepts on Alcibiades’ skin with his words. Abelard and Héloïse weaving theology into their lovemaking. That night we spent passing Shire and Wynter’s back and forth like kisses, our fingers brushing over annotated margins—weren’t we, in our way, making love? The mind, after all, has its own erogenous zones: the place behind the ear that heats when someone dismantles your argument only to rebuild it better, the shiver when they quote your own forgotten words back to you.

Let others reduce intimacy to bodies. We’ll take the tremble in a voice when explaining Kant’s sublime, the gasp of recognition when Venn diagrams of belief overlap, the afterglow that lingers when two people have thought something new into existence between them. This is how philosophers love: with parentheses left open for the other to complete, with footnotes that say “See also: your eyes when you’re about to understand.”

(And when we finally come apart, it will be with our mothers’ proverbs on our tongues—half in forgotten, half in protest—as the ancestors lean in to catch the echoes of what we’ve dared to reimagine; salt and wonder and the faint metallic tang of all the words we’ve yet to spill.)

#intellectual intimacy #dark academia #poetry #intellect devourer #anais nin #madonna in a fur coat #thoughts in the void #devotion #the secret history

metamorphesque

poems to read while having breakfast at the heartbreak hotel

I know I am but summer to your heart (Sonnet XXVII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II) by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I Am Not Yours by Sara Teasdale

[you fit into me] by Margaret Atwood

You by Carol Ann Duffy

Be Near Me by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Blessed be the spectacle by Lev St. Valentine

You Are Tired (I Think) by E.E. Cummings

Hope you're well. Please don't read this by Lev St. Valentine

To Say Dark Things by Ingeborg Bachmann

Lilichka by Vladimir Mayakovski

Love and Hate by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

Sanctuary by Jean Valentine

the winter sun says fight by Peter Gizzi

The More Loving One by W. H. Auden

A Primer For The Small Weird Loves by Richard Siken

Dirty Valentine by Richard Siken

Morning by Frank O Hara

We Don't Know How To Say Goodbye by Anna Akhmatova

You'll Live, But I'll Not… by Anna Akhmatova

from “An Attempt at Jealousy” by Marina Tsvetaeva

The Last Toast by Anna Akhmatova

In Dream by Anna Akhmatova

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

Talking In Bed by Philip Larkin

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats

mournfulroses

Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student

I do not want a connection that simply brims.

I want a love that echoes in the passage of time. That takes notes in the margins of my silences, memorizes the cadence of my quiet. That lingers not for the warmth of my body, but for the architecture of my thoughts—the labyrinthine halls of very being, dimly lit by longing, waiting to be known.

Let us meet, not in the frenzy of skin on skin, but in the cathedral of our minds—where your philosophy touches mine like prayer, where we undress one another not with fingers, but with words and hopes and the intangible extractions of our unsaid exploits.

Is it not the most sacred act, to be read deeply?

I do not want possession—I want presence. Your eyes on me like a scholar, your voice in conversation like candlelight.

Soft.

Careful.

Eternally curious.

Unravel me like a question you want to live the answer to.

#poetry #writing #chaotic academia #dark academia #romantic academia #intellectualproperty #intellectual intimacy