"The only recorded instance of Philip Larkin shedding tears was in March 1979. His secretary Betty Mackereth remembers how, “He just stood at the window of his office, looking out, and said: ‘I mowed the lawn last night; and I killed the hedgehog.’ And tears rolled down his face.” The hedgehog had been a frequent visitor to his garden. The next day he wrote a poem about the incident, as if the animal shared his humanity. It is sobering to think of the master of poetic gloom as a lachrymose Mr Tiggy-Winkle."
Living alone means red wine and Big Sad Thoughts about World War One and mange tout for supper with horrible romantic comedies that mean nothing to me because life is fundamentally NOT LIKE THAT and I’m done with all my run on sentences because they’re better as spiel to other people than private inner monologues.
Every time somewhere I love changes I feel like I’ve lost a tiny part of my world and that world is shrinking shrinking shrinking.
Vsevolod Garshin was XIX century Russian short stories author. He committed suicide when he was 33 years old, so he did not leave voluminous work, but the stories he did write are amazing piece of XIX literature. This is his portrait done by Ilya Repin.
Maybe this is just shyness but it’s never been that before and it’s the loudest kind of quiet ever put on trial and the jury’s been out for a while, now.
I worked out today quite how much money I’m going to owe when I leave university and I’m embarrassed that I ever thought five years of reading poetry and drinking tea in graveyards could be worth that much.
Keep having horrible dreams about passive aggressive texts and people I love being mostly disinterested but also subtly mocking when I want to move to South America and my friends’ mothers living in my student flat, sleeping in my bed, waiting all summer for me to get back so they can berate me for being gone so long when they need my help.
The Anti-Flirt Club was an American club active in Washington, D.C., during the early 1920s. The purpose of the club was to protect young women and girls who received unwelcome attention from men in automobiles and on street corners. The Anti-Flirt Club launched an ‘Anti-Flirt’ week, which began on March 4, 1923
I want to still love Tumblr but my relationship with my body and my relationship with my own self-worth and my relationship with the entire fucking universe pretty much means that everything I see on here either makes me feel bad about myself or feel bad about the fact that I feel bad about myself.
I went to a food thing and they gave us forks the length of my armspan and filled the room with “bacon smoke” and we had to wear blindfolds and we ate salmon that had been raised on classical music and it’s probably not okay that I would rather eat an uncultured salmon but I would.
I also sent a Moomin to the Hague today and discovered I’m allergic to sheep. What if they blow up the Moomin thinking it’s a bomb? What if I really wanted to be a shepherdess?
The drunkenness of things being various.