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@ohhippolytus-blog
But her eyes—I must not forget those remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay—in outward aspect at least;—they were long and narrow in shape, the irids black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and ever changing, but always either preternaturally—I had almost said diabolically—wicked, or irresistibly bewitching—often both.
Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (via nefelibata1609)
Her face was towards me, and there was something in it, which, once seen, invited me to look again. Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossy ringlets, a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days, but always graceful and becoming; her complexion was clear and pale, her eyes I could not see, for being bent upon, her prayer book they were concealed by their drooping lids and long black lashes, but the brows above were expressive and well defined, the forehead was lofty and intellectual, the nose, a perfect aquiline, and the features in general, unexceptionable—
Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (via nefelibata1609)
She may be queen of devils but she’s every inch a queen.
Christina Rossetti, excerpt of Look on This Picture and on This (via antigonick)
Come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again–
Christina Rossetti, from ‘Echo’ (via soracities)
A nameless girl in freshest summer greens, A saint, an angel;
Christina Rossetti, excerpt of ‘In An Artist’s Studio’.
This poem is about Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s muse, model and wife, Elizabeth Siddal. Here is a painting of her by D. G. Rossetti.
(via pairedaeza)
Light feet, dark violent eyes, and parted hair;
John Keats, excerpt of “Three Sonnets to Woman”, from The Complete Poems of John Keats (via nefelibata1609)
“The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.”
— Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (via landscape-photo-graphy)
“Have you ever been with someone, someone whom you are trying to love, trying not to give up on, and they say something that you find unbearable? You can hear glass shatter; that point when you realize what you had is something that cannot be reassembled. If you put the pieces back together, you would be left rather like Silas, with a memorial, a holder of memories. You would be left rather like Silas, with an empty container, a reminder of what was once but is no longer.”
— Sara Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life
“I cherish your words that ring like late summer thunders”
— Audre Lorde, from Conversation In Crisis in “The Collected Poems Of Audre Lorde”
I needed blood to tell me the truth, the touch of blood.
Denise Levertov, from A Door in the Hive: Poems; “St. Thomas Didymus,” (via echymosis)
Metamorphosis | Hiroko Otake
And as she leaves me may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
John Keats, excerpt of “I stood tiptoe upon a little hill”, in The Complete Poems of John Keats (via nefelibata1609)
…when their full lips First touch’d; what amorous, and fondling nips They gave each other’s cheeks; with all their sighs, And how they kist each other’s tremulous eyes: The silver lamp, - the ravishment, - the wonder - The darkness, - loneliness, - the fearful thunder;
John Keats, excerpt of “I stood tiptoe upon a little hill”, from The Complete Poems of John Keats (via nefelibata1609)
i really love oversized clothing that distorts your silhouette. I love being formless
Vogue Actually Printed This Crazy Diet In The 1970s
“…what am I if not a ray from some long-dead star? […] dying in the flames of excessive potentiality?”
— George Bataille (trans. Stuard Kendall), Guilty (via my-nothing-self)
“I have a lot to give someone, someday. But I must not be too Christian. I can only end up with one, and I must leave many lonely by the wayside. So that is all for now. Perhaps someday someone will leave me by the wayside. And that will be poetic justice.”
— Sylvia Plath, August 1950; The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
