“Why Are Some People Drawn To Minimalist Architecture And Others To Baroque? Why Are Some People Excited

GOTHIC POETRY RECOMMENDATIONS

Edgar Allan Poe : The Complete Collection of Poems

Emily Brontë : The Complete Collection of Poems

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : “Haunted Houses”

Dana Levin :  “ Styx”

William Blake : “ The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”  /  “A Divine Image”

Margaret Atwood :  “Mushrooms” 

Jorge Luis Borges : “Two English Poems”

Frank Bidart :  “The Ghost”

María Negroni :  “Rosamundi“

Anne Carson :  “The Glass Essay”

Emily Dickinson : The Complete Collection of Poems

Jericho Brown :  “Dear Dr. Frankenstein”

Sylvia Plath : “ Lady Lazarus” /  “Ariel” /  “Fever 103°”

Hughes Mearns :  “Antigonish [I met a man who wasn’t there]”

Robert Lowell : “Florence”

Gregory Orr :  “Gathering the Bones Together“

Paisley Rekdal :  “Bats”

#cancer #autumn #professor #englishliterature

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i got an old book about the greek language for 1$ today :)

I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.

HADES; GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD

*adjusts Victorian shirt* What do you mean? *writes poetry with an expensive fountain pen* Am I really  *drinks Absinthe* too dramatic?! *flings herself on a 19th century chaise lounge* Don’t be ridiculous!

Few quotes from The Picture of Dorian Gray

People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They feed the hungry and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked.

You will always be loved, and you will always be in love with love.

Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one’s mistakes.

He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.

There are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up.

Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.

The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

I love acting. It is so much more real than life.

If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world.

One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing.

We live in an age that reads too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful.

If thought could exercise its influence upon a living organism, might not thought exercise an influence upon dead and inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions, atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity?

It is said that passion makes one think in a circle.

My art history teacher is like "there were ZERO women artists during the renaissance well there was Sofonisba but that's it" and I'm STEAMING bc there WERE more female artists during the Renaissance and I KNOW this bc I spent hours researching women artists in the Renaissance so I could figure out what to name my girl ninja turtle oc when I was 11

subjects as dark academia aesthetics

english: knit turtlenecks, corduroy pants. going to stationery stores and buying ink. writing notes and penning stories in leather-bound notebooks. critiquing your friend’s essay as you walk hurriedly through a grove of oak trees in the rain on your way to class.

math: perpetually foggy glasses. biting your pencil eraser to focus when you’re stuck on a particularly difficult problem. taking notes and putting them into a worn binder, bursting with variegated papers. late night study sessions fueled by multiple cups of black tea.

chemistry: heavy old textbooks covered in post-it notes. empty beakers sitting in the windowsill, reflecting random patterns of light onto the classroom walls. a cozy striped sweater peeking out from underneath a pristine white lab coat. coffee from the local cafe, filled just to the brim with creamer - very precisely, a skill learned from hours spent measuring chemicals.

history: dark woolen coats, long socks hidden under plaid pants. old maps from all across the glove hung around the room. analyzing (and admiring!) prolific writing and pieces of art that have survived the test of time. long walks on cobblestone streets, stopping to read on the steps of a museum.

latin: sturdy leather backpacks with straps. stopping to explain the meaning of words and their roots, followed by looks of intrigue. writing latin sayings into tea-stained planners. sitting in a cafe, eating a macaron in a window booth and watching people walk by.

art: hair pulled back into a low bun, random strands poking out. hands always stained with paint, charcoal - the medium changes daily. sketching under a sycamore tree, its leaves slowly browning. standing in front of a painting in a museum, becoming lost in it, slowly pulled back in time into its story.