#english literature Tumblr posts

  • celestialblissworld
    23.06.2021 - 1 minute ago
    The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise; like diseases that are treated superficially and foolishly, they just withdraw and after a short interval break out again all the more terribly; and gather inside us and are life, are life that is unlived, rejected, lost, life that we can die of.

    Letters to a young poet ; Rainer Maria Rilke.

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  • celestialblissworld
    23.06.2021 - 2 minutes ago
    Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

    Letters to a young poet ; Rainer Maria Rilke.

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  • celestialblissworld
    23.06.2021 - 4 minutes ago
    And if there is one more thing that I must say to you, it is this: Don't think that the person who is trying to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes give you pleasure. His life has much trouble and sadness, and remains far behind yours. If it were otherwise, he would never have been able to find those words.

    Letters to a young poet ; Rainer Maria Rilke.

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  • appleinducedsleep
    23.06.2021 - 15 minutes ago

    “But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea."

    Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

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  • jordanasplace
    23.06.2021 - 40 minutes ago

    Aurora (short story)

    Hey guys so, I wrote a short story for school and I kinda like it. It’s basically about a girl painting a character while the story paints a character. It's pretentious, complicated and confusing, I know, but I like it. :)

    She rummages through the drawer, searching for a pencil. Long, thin fingers graze the bottom, trying to hurry before motivation leaves her grasp. Finally gripping the tool, she wanders across the burnt auburn floorboards, alighting on the thin floral-patterned cushion atop the lean wood chair. Licking her index finger, she reaches over her desk to retrieve a piece of thick paper designed for drawing. Countless records, album covers, and greenery hang from the ceiling, making the already tiny room feel cramped. The beige walls adorned with posters of renowned musicians from 30 years prior staring back at her, she swiftly pulls open her playlist. Indie and soft rock pulse through her earbuds as she unintentionally locks eyes with her makeup-coated green ones in the mirror. 

    Eyeing her wrist, she takes off one of her many elastics and begins to put up her thick hair, unable to concentrate with it down. She sighs with contentment as she focuses on her task once again. Starting with a slovenly circle, she begins the sketch. The sound of the pencil scratching the page as she draws a jawline on her creation is barely audible over a singer beautifully sobbing about a manipulative boyfriend sounding in her earbuds. She draws guidelines to finish the skeleton of her drawing, softly staring at the rough outline scribbled in front of her.

    Aurora. Her name would be Aurora.

    She smiles softly as an image of what she wants to make appears clearly in her mind. She thinks of a story to go along with the character she created. Her pencil softly scuffs the paper as she draws the curve of an eyelid. Aurora's eyes were viridescent like the northern lights, bright enough to make one's troubles melt away within an instant. She has winged, black eyeliner that she spends at least fifteen minutes on every morning, unable to make it straight on her first try. Eyelashes coated with a thin layer of mascara which always seem to have a few clumps in it. She has eyes that crinkle whenever a friend makes her laugh. Eyes that accidentally hold contact with someone for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Eyes that glisten whenever she receives a compliment. Eyes that cry every time a word was directed at her in an angry tone or when she couldn't reign in her impulsive thoughts. Eyes that struggle to keep frustrated tears inside, yet they would inevitably slip out when something wouldn't go the way she desired it. Yet still, eyes that she uses to see her vintage desk lamp that flickers off every so often, the wooden furniture that her grandmother gave her and her plastic vines that were strung up-high against her wall.

    She was entirely focused on her illustration, her tongue slightly protruding from in between her lips. She finishes Aurora's eyebrows, while her own are slightly furrowed. The wind outside her window blows loudly, releasing her from her spell of concentration for a mere moment. She stretches her arms and shakes out her wrists while smiling a giggly grin. Her pencil easily glides across the smooth paper as she adds a nose to her artwork. 

    A nose that takes in the aroma of warm apple pie, a nose that breathes in the fresh scent of wind and petrichor whenever she opens her window. A nose that continuously smells her partner’s sweatshirt because she is overly attached to her. It was a comforting scent, one of faint strawberry shampoo that reminds her of love and affection, rather than the stale one that she was attuned to. The scent that surrounds her, yet still somehow feels distant.

    She continues to draw, adding light dots for faint freckles, using her finger to blend a make-shift blush. She then brings her pencil down the page and starts sketching a cupid’s bow. She drags the line across with care and continues the rest of the lips.

    Aurora had lips that were always covered with a thin layer of honey-flavoured lip balm. Lips that she bit whenever a minor inconvenience struck into her life. Lips that longed for the taste of iced coffee, lips that mouthed the lyrics of her favourite songs, not allowing herself to audibly sing, even in the solidarity of her own room. Lips that quiver when she tries to hold back tears, lips that let her tongue slip through whenever she focuses on something. Lips that could talk about her favourite types of music and art for hours to anyone that cared to listen. Lips that would scream and swear when she couldn’t express her emotions, her truths. Lips that try their hardest to tell her partner what she felt, yet fail, leaving only the unspoken breathless words of “I love you.”

    She finishes the lips with a curve and a twist of her pencil. The work of art came together better than her expectations, and she couldn’t help but feel a touch proud. She brings her hand back onto the paper and starts drawing small imperfections on the skin. Slight acne in small patches on Aurora’s forehead and chin that she usually tries to hide with makeup, and deep eye bags from lack of sleep. Too worried with thoughts of the past and the future to notice her current state. Her bones jut out at odd angles, leaving the look of what some would perceive a corpse.

    She draws hair framing Aurora’s face. Hair that was dark brown but with slight red-orange highlights peppered within it. Hair that was thick with volume and flowed behind her whenever she would start to run. Hair that she had to put up when she concentrated.

    With one final stroke of her pencil, she finishes the art piece. Aurora was complete, and it almost feels as if her presence is really in the room. She was beautiful.

    She sets down her tool and glances across her room, briefly looking at the mirror to her left in the process. She brings her eyes back to her drawing, to Aurora. Emotions rampage through her skull as a single tear slowly drips down the side of her cheek. Feelings of joy, melancholy, nostalgia, connection and content, all the same. She wipes her eyes, stares back down at Aurora, and smiles.

    ok yeah thats the end I hope you liked it :)

    #short story#writing#young writer#literature#story#writing ideas#english literature #i literally don't know how to tag a post like this #writers on tumblr #writer #please dont be mean my mental health can't take it #reblogs appreciated#:)#words #i wrote this #my stories
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  • floodymary
    23.06.2021 - 46 minutes ago

    23.06.21

    I actually did finish everything on my to-do list today and wrote some extra class notes as well. So thats a pretty good feeling. But I feel like I still go on my phone too much.

    .

    I have soooo many classes tomorrow uggh I dread Thursdays. Also, I had a smoothie for lunch today and I feel invincible. 'Twas a watermelon and blueberry smoothie and a pretty good one in fact.

    .

    Oh and I started journalling again - basically I just write down the conversations I have with myself (I hope no one ever reads it)

    P.S. The unicorn plushie was a birthday gift from a friend and I call her Heka :)

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  • nyx-lunare
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Once I read one of these pages,

    Excitement in my veins rages.

    Phrases as deep as the depth of the ocean,

    Words full of hidden terms and emotions.

    Here I can be me and just be free,

    No one's judging and criticizing me.

    I can have a journey and travel around the world,

    I can go wherever I want in just a single word.

    How I wish I could just live inside this book,

    How exciting and adventurous. Here take a look.

    —Life havung books, Nyx Lunare

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  • hoeliterature
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Love, your kisses are swords and my body is a warzone.

    And I would trade all the peace in the world just to sit through your chaos once more.

    ~You're not gone, your heart still beats with mine.

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  • volumelover
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Most of the time, the tears aren't made of one new problem; they are made of a pile of problems accumulated over the years.

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  • enamouredpoet
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    “you attract what you fear” AHHHHHHH neil perry rising from the dead and following his acting dreams regardless of his father

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  • inkedline
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    —Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights.

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  • second-by-second
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Why are the plots going round in circles like girl this isn’t english literature 💀

    #wtfock#skam france#english literature#english language #literally every extract we annotated for mock prep was just a CiRcUlAr NaRrAtIvE #english language paper 1
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  • opes-magnas
    23.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    a woman is all i wanted to be

    a girl they called out from the neon lit room celebrations anew to previous ages took off themis stood at the door, blowing a trumpet as my mother lifted me, wrapped in a purple blanket spangled with stars, i was welcomed
    little girl how did you to do this they asked when i rode a bicycle for the first time without falling, i smiled i never fell not because i was great, but those who have come before me were
    i wanted to wear shorts in the hot summer of ‘16 dance to the bloomer waltz with my head held high why can’t i do both? who said a whale has to be killed for me to dance, i don’t know probably a man who never met a woman
    the day i became a woman, i stood still a silent sentinnel at the silver door, as my grip tightened around the bars of male gaze i asked too many questions they said, shut up your pain, the blood you shed is tainted with desire
    desire to be free, to ride the golden flyer with a black kitten named saxon and not be called a witch desire to walk down the street without looking over my shoulder desire to climb up on the pedestal and wave the flag for others if these are tainted with the sin of wanting parity, then so be it
    i know nothing of the real pain suffered by real women as i sit in my gilded cage, i practice to fly like the bluebird to learn of real pain behind every smile, every drop of blood shed for me to even think about such things
    in a man’s world why do you want to a woman? they asked its because i choose to, now and a thousand years from now with a sunflower sewn to the chest of my dress, i will be forged in this heat of misogny until one day, there is a venus with an unclenched fist

    ~Lady Lazarus taglist (asked to be added/removed!): @kaavijournals @hazelandsunshine @47crayons @writing-is-a-martial-art @the-writing-avocado @lexiklecksi @shinesundark @croctears @artbyeloquent

    @original-writing

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  • ramblerinthedark
    23.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    It's been two days// and I can still taste the mint from your lips.//It's been two days// And I can still hear your voice in between the silence and chaos.// It's been two days// And I can still recall your scent, smile and songs.//It's been two days// And I can still feel your hand upon mine.// It's been two days// And it feels like eternity and yesterday.

    It's been two days,

    It's been two days

    only.

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  • cinematic-literature
    23.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    The World, the Flesh and the Devil (1959) by Ranald MacDougall

    Book title

    The Cane Mutiny (1951) by Herman Wouk

    Three O'Clock Dinner (1945) by Josephine Pinckney

    I Love Her, That’s Why! (1955) by George Burns

    Twentieth Century Unlimited From the Vantage Point of the First Fifty Years (1950), edited by Bruce Bliven

    Selected Plays of Bernard Shaw

    The Liveliest Art (1957) by Arthur Knight

    The Proud Land by James Lee Bartlow

    Pride and Prejudice (1813) by Jane Austen

    Our First Murder (1940) by Torrey Chanslor and Marjorie Torrey

    #mel ferrer #the world the flesh and the devil #ranald macdougall #the cane mutiny #books in movies #english literature#american literature#herman wouk #three o'clock dinner #josephine pinckney #i love her that's why #george burns #twentieth century unlimited #bruce bliven #george bernard shaw #the liveliest art #arthur knight #the proud land #james lee bartlow #fictitious books #fictitious books in movies #pride and prejudice #jane austen #our first murder #torrey chanslor#marjorie torrey
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  • nyx-lunare
    23.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    She's really lucky she could listen to what his heart speaks through singing to her.

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  • nyx-lunare
    23.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    11:44 and almost midnight. At times like this, thoughts flashes through your mind and you'll want rain to pour, have snacks beside you while you hold whether a book, pen and paper, or even your sketchpad.

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  • nyx-lunare
    23.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    When mixed up emotions comes up from your your heart to your head. You'll just end up seeing yourself writing a story. Even just in your envision.

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