Beautiful pink silk and Honiton lace parasol, featuring an enamel hand wearing a bracelet inscribed with the words ‘I GOVERN’, acting as the opening mechanism.
Thought to have been presented to Queen Victoria at the opening of Prince Alberts Great Exhibition on the 1st of May 1851.
This absolutely enchanting literary design by @Sylviefaconcreatricefrance (instagram) *yearns to become physicial incarnation of my beloved library*
Vintage Vampiresses 🥀🦇
Reblogged from my darker, wilder sideblog, full of magic and mystery and all things dark and tempting - I’d adore if you came to visit my virtual haunted manor 🕸️🦇🥀
(accidentally posted this on main first for those of you who liked or reblogged the previous version)
Was an artistic, literary, musical and intellectual movement that originated in Europe toward the end of the 18th century and in most areas was at its peak in the approximate period from 1800 to 1850. Romanticism was characterized by its emphasis on emotion and individualism as well as glorification of all the past and nature, preferring the medieval rather than the classical. It was partly a reaction to the Industrial Revolution. The aristocratic social and political norms of the Age of Enlightenment, and the scientific rationalization of nature. It was embodied most strongly in the visual arts, music, and literature, but had a major impact on historiography, education, and the natural sciences. It had a significant and complex effect on politics, and while for much of the Romantic period it was associated with liberalism and radicalism, its long-term effect on the growth of nationalism was perhaps more significant.
I wanna be the type of girl that has cuticle butter on her nightstand. She declutters daily because she doesn’t mindlessly hoard materials. She saved up twenty dollars a week and bought a maribou robe last month just to spoil herself. Her toiletries are from Etsy. She makes her bed in the morning and saunters from room to room in fluffy slippers. Her hair sits high and her inhibitions sit low. She draws her own baths and does her own pedicure. She watches Netflix from the tub, and ends every night with green tea. She may not go out, but she never feels she’s missing out on anything. She gives herself time.
Details in Purple
- The New Bracelet, 19th century, by Frans Verhas.
- Countess Alexander Nikolaevitch Lamsdorff, 1859, by Franz Xaver Winterhalter.
- Summer Idleness: Day Dreams, 1909, by John William Godward.
- Lady in Violet, 1874, by Pál Szinyei Merse.
- Portrait of a Lady, c. 1570, by Alessandro Allori.
- A Lady in a Lilac Dress, 19th century, by Władysław Czachórski.
- That Was a Piedmontese, 1862, by Arthur Hughes.
- A Gust of Wind, by Gaetano Bellei.
“Rose whose soul unfolds white petaled
Touch her soul rose-white;
Rose whose thoughts unfold gold petaled
Blossom in her sight;
Rose whose heart unfolds red petaled
Quick her slow heart’s stir;
Tell her white, gold, red my love is;
And for her,– for her.”
— Angelina Weld Grimke, “Rosabel”
“Come; and we will be silent for a while. / Look at this rose on the corner of my desk: / isn’t the light around it just as timid / as the light on you?”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, “Requiem for a Friend”
“Night-dew on your fringe, unravelings of cotton, / the gloss of mother-of-pearl, / iris and Damascene rose… “
— Saadi Youssef, “Old Pictures from Kout Al-Zain“
“At the temple and the mosque the rose petals lay all night perfuming the stunned water.”
— Agha Shahid Ali, “Water”
“I am a new rose.
My redness, wild hallucinations,
and my thorns, prison cells
with views of the moon.
Yesterday someone touched me,
but did not pick me.
I was tough.
I didn’t give him any of my petals.
Tomorrow when people pass by,
my leaves will remind them
of things that never were,
and they will leave my dry head bare
contemplating the new roses
which were not here yesterday.”
— Dunya Mikhail, “Tough Rose”
“[I] saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the color of a rose in Bengal…”
— Jorge Luis Borges, “The Aleph”
“Red rose, / Red rose, / Red rose: / He took me to the rose garden, / And in darkness, he threaded / a read rose in my ruffled hair, / And made love with me / On a red rose petal.”
— Forough Farrokhzad, “Red Rose”
“The rose was created by Chloris, the Goddess of flowers. One day she found the lifeless body of a nymph in the woods and turned her into a flower. Chloris called upon Aphrodite who gave the flower beauty and Dionysus who added nectar to give it a sweet fragrance. Zephyrus, God of the West Wind, blew the clouds away so Apollo could shine and make the flower bloom.”
— Bryan Sisson, Peribology: A Budding of Secrets
“You’re lovely, but you’re empty,” he went on. “One couldn’t die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered. Since she’s the one I put under glass. Since she’s the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the one or two for butterflies). Since she’s the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
“Become like the rose and live silently: / If you have to speak, utter nothing but fragrance.”
— Adonis, “In the Embrace of Another Alphabet”
“But there are roses, there are still roses. In the damp and the cold, on a bush that looks done, there’s a wide-open rose, still.”
Look at the colour of it.”
— Ali Smith, Autumn
“I am blind and know nothing, yet I still see
there are more roads to travel. And every thing
is really an infinity of things. You are music
and rivers, palaces, angels, and skies,
an endless rose, infinite and intimate.”
— Jorge Luis Borges, “The Endless Rose”
“I, who was trying on the dress in the morning heat, asked for a proof of God. And I smelled the most intense thing, an overwhelmingly intense fragrance of roses.”
— Clarice Lispector, “The Dead Man in the Sea at Urca”
“All night by the rose, rose,
All night by the rose I lay;
Dared I not the rose steal,
And yet I bare the flower away.”
— Anonymous, “All Night By the Rose”
“A great, intoxicated surge of the heavy scent of red roses blew into his face as soon as they left the village, inducing a sensuous vertigo; a blast of rich, faintly corrupt sweetness strong enough almost, to fell him.”
— Angela Carter, “The Lady of the House of Love”
“I know of the story of a rose. Does it seem strange to you that I speak of a rose when I’m concentrating on animals? But it behaved in a way that reminds one of animal mysteries. Every other day I would buy a rose and put it in water in a vase made especially thin to hold the long stem of a single flower. Every other day the rose would wilt and I would replace it with another. Until one particular rose turned up. Rose-colored but without artificial coloring or grafting the most vivid rose color in nature. Its beauty filled the heart. It seemed so proud of the swelling-out of its wide-open corolla and of its petals that it proudly held itself almost erect… it bent gracefully over the thin, fragile stem. An intimate and intense relationship was established between myself and the flower: I admired it and it seemed to feel itself admired….so great was the love with which it was observed that the days went by and still it did not wilt. The corolla remained wide open and swollen out, fresh as a new-born flower. It endured in beauty and in life for an entire week. Only then did it start to show signs of some weariness. Then it died. It was with great reluctance that I exchanged it for another. And I never forgot it…Something [happened] between me and the rose…it and I had been able to live each other profoundly, as only happens between animals and human beings.”
— Clarice Lispector, Água Viva
“Beauty never slumbers; / All is in her name; / But the rose remembers / The dust from which it came.”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Autumn Chant”
“Once in a garden there grew a rose. A wind fell in love with her. They were completely different, he – light and fair; she – immobile and heavy as blood.
There came a man in wooden clogs and with his thick hands he plucked the rose. The wind leapt after him, but the man slammed the door in his face.
– O that I might turn to stone – wept the unlucky one – I was able to go round the whole world, I was able to stay away for years at a time, but I knew she was always there waiting.
The wind understood that, in order to really suffer, one has to be faithful.”
— Zbigniew Herbert, “The Wind and the Rose”
“the [world] / is probably made / of roses & hello”
— e.e. cummings, “Post Impressions (VI)”
After seeing @bebemoons most darling cartoon witch concept (I fell completely in love with the soft sketch like design of this generator) I asked if it would be okay if I jumped on the bandwagon (and was thankfully invited to do so), here is my concept!
If anyone at all would like to do this please feel free to partake and tag me so I can fawn over your marvelous creations 🖤