The Concealed Ambry

He opened a door of the ambry, pulled out a drawer, and, pressing some spring, revealed a narrow, secret shelf. ♣♣♣

[maudelynn]

Story Time! 

Lovely 1920s romantic Biederer postcard 

(and now, I am off into the day :) queue on xoxo)

[the-concealed-ambry]

After scowling through the months of November and December, waiting for a holiday season I don't participate in due to religious differences and general Scroogey Grinchiness to be over, I decided to have a celebration of my own in mid-January consisting of receiving parcels of very affordable used books to make myself a thick stack of densely written British literature. Happy mid-January, everyone!

[jeevesandwooster]

'What ho!' I said. ‘What ho!’ said Motty. ‘What ho! What ho!’ ‘What ho! What ho! What ho!’ After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

P.G. Wodehouse, “Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest” (via jeevesandwooster)

[simena]

Gottlieb Th. von Kempf-Hartenkampf

[shweereading]

Reblog if you're a bookish blog looking for more followers!

[feuille-d-automne-deactivated20]

What Shall I Say? (Julia Hall McCune) by Clarence H.White ,1896 .

Via The Cleveland Museum Of Art

[mothgirlpoems]

Wuthering Heights was hewn in a wild worskhop, with simple tools, out of homely materials. The statuary found a granite block on a solitary moor: gazing thereon, he saw how from the crag might be elicited the head, savage, swart, sinister; a form moulded with at least one element of grandeur — power. He wrought with a rude chisel, and from no model but the vision of his meditations. With time and labour, the crag took human shape; and there it stands colossal, dark, and frowning, half statue, half rock; in the former sense, terrible and goblin-like; in the latter, almost beautiful, for its colouring is of mellow grey, and moorland moss clothes it; and heath, with its blooming bells and balmy fragrance, grows faithfully close to the giant’s foot.

Charlotte Brontë on her sister’s first and only novel, Wuthering Heights

just imagine any of the brontë sisters describing their type of man. “half man, half goblin, almost beautiful, clothed in moss” u get it gurl

(via aepocrypha)

[sommartidsvarmod-deactivated201]

Kitty Packe, by Sir William Beechey (1820).

[c0ssette]

Wistful Thoughts,1878.Gustave Jean Jacquet.

[birdsong217]

James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834 -1903)

Reading by Lamplight. Etching, c1859.

[vestahls]

As his lordship stared at the doctor another figure appeared, a girl of about fifteen with long, rather wild black hair. She was gauche in movement and in a sense, ugly of face, but with how small a twist might she not suddenly have become beautiful. Her sullen mouth was full and rich — her eyes smouldered. A yellow scarf hung loosely around her neck. Her shapeless dress was a flaming red. For all the straightness of her back she walked with a slouch. “Come here,” said Lord Groan as she was about to pass him and the doctor. “Yes father,” she said huskily. “Where have you been for the last fortnight, Fuchsia?” “Oh, here and there, father,” she said, staring at her shoes. She tossed her long hair and it flapped down her back like a pirate’s flag. She stood in about as awkward a manner as could be conceived. Utterly unfeminine — no man could have invented it.

Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan, description of Fuchsia (via desolation-of-swag)

[books0977]

Portrait of Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent (later Queen Victoria), 1830. Richard Westall (English, 1765–1836). Oil on canvas. Royal Collection. 

In 1827 at age eight, Queen Victoria received her first drawing lesson by Westall. It took place between classes on religion and history, and poetry and general knowledge. A combination of latent talent, enthusiasm and good teaching ensured that she became a competent draughtswoman and watercolourist.

[fuckyeahvintageillustration]

'Bellaroontje, het woud-prinsesje / Bellaroontje, the forest-princess’ by Alfred Listal. Published 1913 by Gebr. Kluitman, Alkmaar.

See the complete book here.

[bloodorangefeast]

Jane Eyre Illustrated by FH Towsend.

"Threw himself down on a swell of heath and there lay still"

[fuckyeahcelticmythology]

Guess who it is. Created before the deluge. A creature strong, Without flesh, without bone, Without veins, without blood, Without head, and without feet. It will not be older, it will not be younger, Than it was in the beginning. There will not come from his design Fear or death. He has no wants From creatures.

Excerpt from Song of the Wind, (Welsh: Kanu Ygwynt) from the Book of Taliesin. (via fuckyeahcelticmythology)

[caveofhypnos-blog]

You see the mountain, and hill following after hill, as wave on wave, you see the woods and orchard, the fields of ripe corn, and the meadows reaching to the reed-beds by the river. You see me standing here beside you, and hear my voice; but I tell you that all these things — yes, from that star that has just shone out in the sky to the solid ground beneath our feet — I say that all these are but dreams and shadows; the shadows that hide the real world from our eyes. There is a real world, but it is beyond this glamour and this vision, beyond these ‘chases in Arras, dreams in a career,’ beyond them all as beyond a veil. I do not know whether any human being has ever lifted that veil; but I do know, Clarke, that you and I shall see it lifted this very night from before another’s eyes. You may think this all strange nonsense; it may be strange, but it is true, and the ancients knew what lifting the veil means. They called it seeing the god Pan.

Arthur Machen, from ‘The Great God Pan’.

[the-concealed-ambry]

(via caveofhypnos)

[proustitute]

You’ve no idea             what’s grown inside me             since I bled.

Elisa Griswold, from “Sample” (via proustitute)