Jean-Honoré Fragonard, The Swing, 1767 (detail)
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

@theartofmadeline
KIROKAZE
🪼

blake kathryn
almost home
styofa doing anything

pixel skylines

Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane

Love Begins
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.

shark vs the universe

No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium
trying on a metaphor
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĂĽrkiye

seen from Switzerland

seen from Malaysia

seen from Japan
seen from Brazil

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from Germany
seen from Singapore

seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from Australia

seen from Germany

seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from France
@laurapetrie
Jean-Honoré Fragonard, The Swing, 1767 (detail)
Everything about her shimmered and glimmered softly, as if her dress had been woven out of candle-beams; and she carried her head high, like a pretty woman challenging a roomful of rivals.
Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence (1920)
François Boucher, Portrait of Madame de Pompadour, 1756 (detail)
The story we do is so dreary, that I cannot look forward to it. It is a very sad affair which starts in this war & goes back to the Great War! Altho’ I’m a good girl to start with, I turn into a prostitute, thereby ruining my chances with my fiance (who is believed killed, but who of course isn’t!) Eventually I either go mad or commit suicide, or am just plain blown up! — it’s gay isn’t it? - Vivien Leigh on Waterloo Bridge in a letter to Leigh Holman
Literary Heroines + Bedrooms
She dodged and dreamed and romanced away the time; instead of inventing a remedy or a compromise, she gave herself, in her sentient solitude, up to a mere fairy tale, up to the very taste of the beautiful peace with which she would have filled the air if only something might have been that could never have been.
Henry James, The Spoils of Poynton (1896)
They were rapidly and deeply in love. It would be difficult to say which had seen highest perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in having them accepted.
Jane Austen, Persuasion (1817)
Pattie Boyd photographed by Nancy Sandys Walker, 1964
You intrude on my sleep. I believe you are an enchantress.
Alexander Hamilton in a letter to Elizabeth Schuyler, October 1780
A FAREWELL TO ARMSÂ (1932)
I love my girl very much. In fact I love her more than anything or anybody in the world, or the world itself. And she loves me. I'm immensely older [than when I was at home], so when I say that I'm in love with her it doesn't mean that I have a case on her. It means that I love her. Always I've wondered what it would be like to really meet the girl you will really love always and now I know. Furthermore she loves me—which is quite a miracle in itself. Oh, but I love that girl.
Ernest Hemingway writes about Agnes von Kurowsky in a letter to his sister Marcelline Hemingway (November 23, 1918)
LOVE LETTERS (1945)
SINCE YOU WENT AWAY (1944)
PORTRAIT OF JENNIE + date nights in New York
Oppressed with sleepiness, she went to bed and was snuggling down in the perfumed sheets when her eyes fell on the little table by the bedside. Someone had set a cup of hot chocolate there; half asleep, she reached out her hand for it and drank it. Her eyes closed and she fell into a delicious slumber where she dreamed of her lover, a prince as handsome as the God of Love in picture-books, and when he spoke it was with a voice that went straight to her heart.
Arthur Quiller-Couch, "Beauty and the Beast" from The Sleeping Beauty and Other Fairy Tales from the Old French (1910)
She's like a tea rose. There's a wonderful fineness and firmness under all that shy, wistful girlishness of her.
L.M. Montgomery, Rilla of Ingleside (1921)
There's something in her letters—I don't know what—that makes me feel, at least while I'm reading them, that I could even go to the front. It's just the spirit of them—the personality that is in them . . . Somehow I see her eyes very plainly tonight. - walter blythe & una meredith, rilla of ingleside