S A P P H O ;

Immortal beauty, poet of Lesbos and overseer of girls to be wed. {independent interpretation of sappho.}

[ofthemark]

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING SENTENCE STARTERS;

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.

Men were deceivers ever.

How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

He hath done good service in these wars.

And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?

A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.

He hath every month a new sworn brother.

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

If he were [in my books] I would burn my library.

Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you - is not that strange?

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.

When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

There was a star danced, and under that was I born.  

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

Why, what’s the matter, that you have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

Peace; I will stop your mouth.

What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?

I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.

Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.

How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Speak low, if you speak love.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.

[detailsofpaintings]

Hans Makart, The Death of Cleopatra (detail)

1875

[sxpphodite]

neptuniite

♀ ------ Waves lapped on sandy shore and jagged rock, the evening breeze bringing the stench of sea salt to one poet’s nose. She delighted in the crashing of nature- it’s various scents and sights bringing forth great inspiration. Gaea shared Her secrets with Sappho in these moments of solitude, when the lamentations of her woman fell on deaf ears.

It was then that she spotted an unusual sight- not by principle, but merely circumstance. Bared breasts were not so uncommon in her institution, as the ladies lived as freely as they wished...but none were so bold as to submerge themselves so deeply in the vast blue, vulnerable to the elements. Sappho, as she told herself, was a woman of great morality in the best of times- if this girl were one of her pupils, it was only duty to approach her.

“Maiden!” She called out, feet dipping further into the water as she held the skirts of her dress up safely from the liquid. “How fare thee? Surely you are cold- it is not quite summer until many moons from now. Are you of sound disposition?”

[sxpphodite]

eternitality

“Do you really think so?”

     There’s no doubt in her voice – just an honest kind of curiosity, an      openness that rings with possibility. She follows her question with      a thoughtful hum, low and tuneless, and casts her eyes skyward as      her hands sink into the softness of the grass beneath them.

“I don’t know if I can believe that. I mean – not everyone can be the same something, right? Human life… it’s so complicated. But –” And here a quiet laugh bubbles out, “I don’t really know all that much. I could be wrong.”

♀ ------ “Such optimism is a breath of fresh air, dear girl- but don’t let that be your downfall. Life is best lived equal amounts carefree and cautious, never too trusting or too kind. Live it in leisure but be wary of those around you.” 

Sappho speaks quietly, practically a sage after so many years observing humanity. Though her afterlife was not quite godhood, her skin held an ethereal glow too bright to be mortal, hair practically untouched by the wind. Perhaps the two looked right at home in the space between reality and heavens above. 

“A powerful goddess...but still young, aren’t you? The years haven’t embittered you.”

[sxpphodite]

please like this for a starter.

[greuze]

Giovanni Maria Viani (1636–1700) The Penitent Magdalene (Detail) Oil on canvas, 17th Century

[hourglassofblacktears-deactivat]

Unknown Flemish Master - Head of Medusa (detail) (1600)