Virginia Woolf, Orlando
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April
by Mary Oliver
I wanted to speak at length about
the happiness of my body and the
delight of my mind for it was
April, a night, a
full moon and --
but something in myself or maybe
from somewhere other said: not too
many words, please, in the
muddy shallows the
Frogs are singing.
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Sylvia Plath, from a journal entry featured in "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath,"
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Natalie Wee, Least of all
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when you start reading again and it's like oh. oh . the sun actually does still shine.
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do you think mocking catholicism is funny
yes. next question
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Baldur’s Gate 3 is really showing me that my deepest fantasy is someone telling me that my kindness made a difference to them and they’re better for it. 😭😭😭
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Vincent Bánsághi - On the banks of the Danube (1910)
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i hope this cuneiform tablet finds you well
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The next day, she decided not to get up at all. It was a dreary and excellent decision. She thought no further than this: I will never again get up. It was a day with rain, a quiet, steady rain that might continue for days. That's good, I like rain. Curtains and draperies of rain, endless infinities of rain going on and on, pattering rustling and pattering—across the roof. Not like sunshine, which hour by hour moves through the room like a challenge, crossing the windowsill, the rug, certifying afternoon on the rocking chair, then disappearing on the stove hood in red, like an accusation. Today is honorably and simply gray, an anonymous, timeless day that doesn't count.
– Tove Jansson, from “The Squirrel,” The Woman Who Borrowed Memories: Selected Stories (NYRB, 2014)
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