Monday, May 7, 2012
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his. Oscar Wilde
Saturday, May 5, 2012
nevver:

“This wallpaper is killing me. One of us has to go.” — Oscar Wilde’s tomb

nevver:

“This wallpaper is killing me. One of us has to go.” — Oscar Wilde’s tomb

Monday, February 6, 2012

and it’s nice enough
to make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do you

Saturday, February 4, 2012 Tuesday, January 31, 2012

‘Listen, Jake,’ he leaned forward on the bar. ‘Don’t you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you’ve lived nearly half the time you have to live already?’

‘Yes, every once in a while.’

‘Do you know that in about thirty-five years more we’ll be dead?’

‘What the hell, Robert,’ I said. ‘What the hell.’

Monday, January 30, 2012
Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread so far, her life, herself. Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
wehadfacesthen:

Gloria Vanderbilt and Truman Capote, 1960s

wehadfacesthen:

Gloria Vanderbilt and Truman Capote, 1960s

Friday, January 13, 2012

Death of a Salesman

Happy: So how’s it coming, Stanley?
Stanley: Ah, it’s a dog’s life. I only wish during the war they’d a took me in the Army. I coulda been dead by now.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Death of a Salesman

WILLY [after a pause, withering]: I can’t understand it. He’s going back to Texas again. What the hell is that?
CHARLEY: Let him go.
WILLY: I got nothin’ to give him, Charley, I’m clean, I’m clean.
CHARLEY: He won’t starve. None of them starve. Forget about him.
WILLY: Then what have I got to remember?