c'est l'amour folle

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Argentinian, 24 years-old, Literature student, lover of all things vintage, actress wannabe and passionate coffee drinker. Shakespearean. Sherlockian. Earl Grey. Rainy days. Old movies. Lindy Hop and Jazz. I will never stop plotting and planning trips to Europe (maybe someday I'll actually go). Opera? Classical Music? Yes, please!

christopherniquet:

lauren bacall modeling for harpers bazaar during the vreeland era

(via eleanorspowell)

I do not think there is a solitary second when my mind is not completely buried in you. You are really on my brain–I suppose if you happened to represent something dangerous I should be locked up–but no it’s not quite like that. I am not always thinking sweetly of you. I am thinking angrily or indignantly or sulkily, quite often, but I am never not thinking of you. More often than not I am just worried about you, concerned and distressed about my baby lamb being tired or unhappy–and of course often it is with mad, mad passion and sometimes it is naughty, sometimes, only sometimes is it dirty or even sadistic…You are all over me, in sorrow or in joy, all of the time– O yes in drunkenness too, in conversation, in work, with every breath and heart-beat.

 Laurence Olivier, love letter to Vivien Leigh (via lifeinpoetry)

(via organ-of-fire)

(via breathingwithquinto)

Title: Morgen! Artist: Richard Strauss 1,813 plays

hannibalsmusic:

Richard Strauss, Morgen!, op. 27 no. 4

Jonas Kaufmann, tenor

Helmut Deutsch, piano

*

Morgen!
Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen
und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde,
wird uns, die Glücklichen sie wieder einen
inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde…
und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen,
werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen,
stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen,
und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen…

English

Tomorrow!
And tomorrow the sun will shine again
and on the way that I will go,
she will again unite us, the happy ones
amidst this sun-breathing earth,
and to the beach, wide, wave-blue
will we still and slowly descend
silently we will look in each other’s eyes
and upon us will sink the mute silence of happiness

(via operaticlawlitics)

(via jmrichards)

librarean:

Hey girl, are you a Shakespearean play? Because you seem hard to date, but it would be awesome if I could.

(via wearethemakersofmanners)

#OMG  #best  #Shakespeare  

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Oh Me! Oh Life! by Walt Whitman (via aurelle)

(via operatramp)

via aurelle

haroldlloyds:

Brief Encounter (1945)

I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again.

(via breathingwithquinto)

h-is-for-hiddles:

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you all Prince Thomas William Hiddleston (on the set of Crimson Peak)

(via speareshakes)

iluminacje:

Ivan Aivazovsky. Because I love ships, sea and Ivan Aivazovsky.

(via calantheandthenightingale)

huffelpoof:

colourfulpantsandarainbowhat:

WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD

Or, as King Henry VIII likes to call it, a productive evening. 

(via saint-aelphaba)

#OMG  #LOL  #History  

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God’s bell buoyed to be the water’s care;
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand,
Turn if you may from battles never done,
I call, as they go by me one by one,
Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,
For him who hears love sing and never cease,
Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:
But gather all for whom no love hath made
A woven silence, or but came to cast
A song into the air, and singing passed
To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you
Who have sought more than is in rain or dew,
Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,
Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,
Or comes in laughter from the sea’s sad lips,
And wage God’s battles in the long grey ships.
The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,
To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;
God’s bell has claimed them by the little cry
Of their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
Beauty grown sad with its eternity
Made you of us, and of the dim grey sea.
Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,
For God has bid them share an equal fate;
And when at last, defeated in His wars,
They have gone down under the same white stars,
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

W. B. Yeats, “The Rose of Battle” (via elucubrare)

sansalayned:

Game of Thrones meme: Eight friendships and/or otps [8/8]

↳ Jaime & Brienne

(via ghostlin)

colourthysoul:

Antonio Ciseri - Magdalena (1870).

(via ritasv)