[talesofpassingtime]

Why were they proud? Because their marble founts Gushed with more pride than do a wretch’s tears?— Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?— Why were they proud? Because red-lin’d accounts Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?— Why were they proud? again we ask aloud, Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

John Keats, Isabella, stanza XVI (via mirroir)

[sydthesquyd]

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[myfandomlife]

Movie Appreciation → Ladyhawke

You have stumbled onto a tragic story, Phillipe Gaston.

And now, whether you like it or not, you are lost in it with the rest of us.

[umbraspeculum]

River's Source

Red is the river's source, my dear Fish. You claim to be so mightily of noble tides, yet I know truly in your depths it is but a vain wish. For there is nothing but mud and blood caked on your sides. Woven in the midst of silver scales and blue, the rush of white stretches forth to further anchor you, dragging you from the waters to the dirt my dear. The Nothing has taken to the river in which you it would appear, ushering from you a single shutter as it shakes your core. For only then, has it stolen your previous ore. The golden gleam of the treasure so sacredly you would guard, so easily foiled by something of the Gods' divine creation. As simple - look here- as a single flip of a card. Foolishly mingling within one endless fool's damnation. Twirling and swirling, there's great magical tricks, a fool I must be, but don't you dare blame me for all of this. "Magic Man", by the tongues of lost few I am called, tearing into my very soul, for there's a crowd I must awe. Some animals, peoples, or some strange entities alike, no matter my play, I am never faulty for one Gods' spite. I'd perhaps wish to be free from your bloody jurisdiction, only here with you I am left, left with an obscure addiction to your relentless sense of malice, scorn, and an endless pain that appears to only be ushered in a vain woman's name. No, my dear silver fish, we are both here for some reason. It matters not if there is little within these moments to gain. Careless of the ceaseless change of seasons, restless in time, as it passes we all learn from our unspoken and thought crimes. You see, for the Nothing will never cease The Death's bidding, nor its power matched as it bends to no other soul. As the nights pass, I feel some part of us winning, working together and forming allegiance through many lives, never quitting, fighting, and holding some focus to a goal to alter the tides, and what have anchored us to this place, ceaselessly spinning, caught in the rapids current. Red is the River's Source, my dear fish, in all regards, and be I something much stronger than you, teeth and claws, to you I am a prisoner, and I will never be a guard. The Nothing will bow you so low, gracelessly you're in his maw, silver staining crimson like rivers flow, you'll find him grinning. The last sight you'll see, as I'm set free, yet hunted again, tell me my dear Fish, will you willing pay for twice the sin?

[willliamherondale]

hand upon hand brother to brother no one shall be greater than all

[blueshoesandbluemountains]

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The Queen and The Soldier - Suzanne Vega

I love this one because not only is it a bit unusual with a lady killing a dude, it’s got a lot of layers about war and loyalty and responsibility and loneliness and the ripple effect of one person’s actions. And the rare murder ballad that makes you sympathize with both parties, caught in a cycle neither of them are happy with.

[openthoughtdialectic]

The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand; Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Matthew Arnold  (via mirroir)

[quotes-shape-us]

There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.

Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man’s Fear (via ginkothewanderer)

[detailsdetales]

The Ambassadors, detail (1553)

Hans Holbein the Younger

[typeworship]

Cloths of Heaven, new print from Seb Lester.

British designer and 8 Faces interviewee, Seb Lester, released a new limited edition print today. ‘Cloths of Heaven’, based on the poem ‘Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’ by W B Yeats, is available both as a print and embroidered artwork.

“Yeats’s poem references ‘embroidered cloths’ and ‘gold and silver threads’, so I wanted to try to make the screen print look like an exquisite and timelessly beautiful piece of highly ornamental needlework. I’ve drawn from Medieval, Renaissance and 18th-century sources but I have also tried to integrate personal, progressive and irreverent flourishing ideas. The result is a hybrid stylistic treatment that I think could only exist in the 21st century.”

See more on

I Love Typography

[grooveity]

 I no longer try to change the world, dragon, I just try to get by in it.

[pidgeonsandpeeps]

Crowned by the Moon by VargasNi

[jusquoboutdumonde]

[eatsleepdraw]

"Leviathan" Ink on book pages.

Elisha Capie 2014.

Follow for more artwork.

[sansastarkt]

♔ You are in an open field. On one side of you is a deep pit, filled with bones and ashes and hellish things. On the other side is your house, yours sons, the Fjord, and the sunlight is striking the snow high on the mountains. If you want to reach your house, then you must push the baby out as Freya would. Let him rip you, but push out. Choose life.

[zptp]

Gauthier D

[observando]

I sit beside the fire and think Of all that I have seen Of meadow flowers and butterflies In summers that have been Of yellow leaves and gossamer In autumns that there were With morning mist and silver sun And wind upon my hair I sit beside the fire and think Of how the world will be When winter comes without a spring That I shall ever see For still there are so many things That I have never seen In every wood in every spring There is a different green I sit beside the fire and think Of people long ago And people that will see a world That I shall never know But all the while I sit and think Of times there were before I listen for returning feet And voices at the door

J.R.R. Tolkien  (via mirroir)