Whatever our souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same.

Just a reminder that Zadie Smith is cool and brilliant (as if anyone could forget!) I don’t remember where this photo is from (a gala? Oscars after-party?) that’s her husband Nick Laird to her left but it doesn’t really matter who anyone is ... that’s Zadie f’ing Smith in the middle and don’t you *ever* forget it!

me: i don’t really want to write this essay

the little shakespearean friar living in my brain: FAKE YOUR DEATH

me: what

“Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?”

'Finnikin of the Rock' Lumatere Chronicles #1 by Melina Marchetta

I think it's a response to terrorism. From the time we're little girls, we're taught to fear the bad man who might get us. We're terrified of being raped, abused, even killed by the bad man, but the problem is, you can't tell the good ones from the bad ones, so you have to wary of them all. We're told not to go out by ourselves late at night, not to dress a certain way, not to talk to male strangers, not to lead men on. We take self-defense classes, keep our doors locked, carry pepper spray and rape whistles. The fear of men is ingrained in us from girlhood. Isn't that a form of terrorism?

Dietland by Sarai Walker

Haymitch every reaping

Sometimes you walk past a pretty girl on the street and there's something beyond beauty in her face, something warm and smart and sensual and inviting, and in the three seconds you have to look at her, you actually fall in love, and in those moments, you can actually know the taste of her kiss, the feel of her skin against yours, the sound of her laugh, how she'll look at you and make you whole. And then she's gone, and in the five seconds afterwards, you mourn her loss with more sadness than you'll ever admit to.

'How to talk to a widower' by Jonathan Tropper'

It’s true though