-
#Cat understands good #literature. #gatsby #book #sleep (Taken with instagram)
-
People don’t have to try not to feel anything anymore; they just can’t.
Richard Hell -
Because being a wanky English Lit major is best done by employing pretentious, self-reflexive literature, Palominos, and a brass pencil sharpener with its own patent leather case.
Excuse me as I spend an hour sharpening my pencil to its optimum writing sharpness.
-
Books were delivered earlier than expected.
Must, resist, temptation.
-
The reality of this is unnerving.
Just for you, Camellia.
Posted on May 24, 2011 via Jackassery with 37 notes
Source: turtleriffic
-
There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable… I simply am not there.
American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis
I wish you were all able to understand the relevance of this to my education right now. -
I have no doubt that I shall stand accused of stretching the point, of finding decadence wherever I choose to find it or of seeing it when it is not really there.
The Devil’s Advocates, Thomas Reed Whissen. -
Mark Z. Danielewski: House of Leaves
Auto re-blog.
This just makes me want to get back to reading it again. …for the seventh time.
Posted on April 21, 2011 via Better Book Titles with 723 notes
Source: betterbooktitles
-
I like … the word decadent, all shimmering with purple and gold. It throws out the brilliance of flames and the gleam of precious stones. It is made of carnal spirit and unhappy flesh and of all the violent splendors of the Lower Empire; it conjures up the paint of the courtesans, the games of the circus, the breath of the tames of animals, the bounding of wild beasts, the collapse among the flames of races exhausted by the power of feeling to the invading sound of enemy trumpets. The decadence is Sardanapalus lighting the fire in the midst of his women, it is Seneca declaiming poetry as he opens his veins, it is Petronius masking his agony with flowers.
En Marqe de la mêlée symboliste, Ernest Raynaud. 1936.
-
Now Hiring:
Someone to talk out a research paper with me.
Some Literature knowledge, and a love of Wilde desired.
No need to understand what I’m actually talking about.
Field Notes Theme. Designed by Manasto Jones. Powered by Tumblr.
