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SEMI-HIATUS AS OF 02.27.12



Michelle. 22. English Literature major. Student and professional slacker. Prone to passionate fits over fictional characters.
Here you will find a hodgepodge of things: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse, Joss is boss, Downton Abbey, American Horror Story,The X Files, Battlestar Galactica, Glee, Damages, Deadwood, Sherlock, Veronica Mars, Arrested Development, Game of Thrones, Boardwalk Empire, Pillars of the Earth, Carnivale, Doctor Who, Queer As Folk, Luther, Sailor Moon, La Femme Nikita, Six Feet Under, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Harry Potter, Musicals.

Currently Watching: Jericho (S1), The Vampire Diaries (S3), Fringe (S3).


The Tate to my Violet
The Moriarty to my Sherlock
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To whom shall I give all that now flows through me, from my warm porous body? I will gather my flowers and present them — Oh! to whom?
- Virginia Woolf; The Waves
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I shall be a clinger to the outsides of words all my life.
- Virginia Woolf, “The Waves” (via joelcrary)
writingsinthestars: Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

writingsinthestars:

Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this —But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it. - Vita Sackville West to Virginia Woolf

Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.--Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville West

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Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.
- Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West (via brainpickings)
“You have overheard scraps of talk that filled you with amazement. You have gone to bed at night bewildered by the complexity of your feelings. In one day thousands of ideas have coursed through your brains; thousands of emotions have met, collided and disappeared in astonishing disorder.”Virginia Woolf

“You have overheard scraps of talk that filled you with amazement. You have gone to bed at night bewildered by the complexity of your feelings. In one day thousands of ideas have coursed through your brains; thousands of emotions have met, collided and disappeared in astonishing disorder.”

Virginia Woolf

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My roots go down to the depths of the world, through earth dry with brick, and damp earth, through veins of lead and silver. I am all fibre. All tremors shake me, and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs. Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing.
- Virginia Woolf - The Waves
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virginia woolf
What is the use, she thought, of trying to tell people about one’s past? What is one’s past? She stared at the pot with the blue knot loosely tied in the yellow glaze. Why did I come, she thought, when they only laugh at me?
- Virginia Woolf,The Years. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
‘Now I will walk, as if I had an end in view, across the room, to the balcony under the awning. I see the sky, softly feathered with its sudden effulgence of moon. I also see the railings of the square, and two people without faces, leaning like statues against the sky. There is, then, a world immune from change. When I have passed through this drawing-room flickering with tongues that cut me like knives, making me stammer, making me lie, I find faces rid of features, robed in beauty. The lovers crouch under the plane tree. The policeman stands sentinel at the corner. A man passes. There is, then, a world immune from change. But I am not composed enough, standing on tiptoe on the verge of fire, still scorched by the hot breath, afraid of the door opening and the leap of the tiger, to make even one sentence. What I say is perpetually contradicted. Each time the door opens I am interrupted. I am not yet twenty-one. I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens. I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the rocks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room.’
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- Rhoda in The Waves by Virginia Woolf

There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, ‘Consume me.’
- Virginia Woolf, The Waves
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virginia woolf
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
- Virginia Woolf (via fervours)