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Classics - Blog Posts
“I wanted to feel loved without feeling like I was begging for it.”
-unknown
- edgar allan poe
“Maybe forever was a word meant for memories not people.”
-unknown
“The gods envy us. They envy us because we are mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.”
- Homer, The Iliad
- Oscar Wilde
“Stars, hide your fires, Let not light see my black and deep desires”
-Shakespeare, Macbeth
The love language of annotating a book
- lovers
there are a great deal too many books of which I have discovered for there to be only twenty-four hours in a day…far to little time I say
“And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.”
- Jane Austen
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
“It is not what we think or feel that makes us who we are. It is what we do. Or fail to do.”
- Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
- Kavya Dixit
- unknown
am I the only one that thinks we don’t really know much about Charles?
I mean, he was always a side character, we don’t really get to know him, anything. I feel like we know almost nothing about him, and then, in the second part of the book he is a really really important character. the police and FBI interrogations, his slow mental breakdown. we get so much information about him at once, his relationship with Camilla, his problems, him being abusive. but despite all of that I still feel like he wasn’t detailed enough and it’s confusing.
anyone feels the same?
i really am living out my dark academic les mis vibes life rn aren’t i???
studying history, literature, classics and politics ?! at a new college where i know very little people and very little people know me?!
i’m the whole package baby
my tbr is sitting at 22 books right now, and I don't know how I'm ever going to read them all because I keep buying more and more and more and more and more
Smintheus, the mouse god of plagues, feels bad after making people sick in the Iliad
"my apollocheese"
happy easter to helen and her egg <3 btw
"[In Sparta] is a sanctuary of Hilaeira and of Phoebe... Here there his been hung from the roof an egg tied to ribands, and they say that it is the famous egg that legend says Leda brought forth."
Pausanias, Description of Greece 3.16.1, trans. Jones
My Poor Friend Ichabod
The party was excellent. I was so, so charmed by all that I saw that day. The guests - each and every one - was as dashing as any other in great Virginia... Save poor Ichabod. He arrived to the event looking like a man haunted. The poor sod had the manner of a mule who'd been working the mill for days without rest, but I *knew* he got the rest of any other man, and hardly lifted an arm to help the young men around town with physical labor. But still, a man didn't look that way with no reason. In those days, I'd considered him a friend. Our repour was a charming one. We played with each other in those days like young men do, pranks and soft jabs. He was perhaps my most favored man in the whole town. It was on that assumption that I approached him, teeth gleaming to perhaps shine some light on his dark demeanor.
He was always a grim man, so I thought to perhaps cheer him up with a tall tale. Some of the worker boys told me about some ghost or other earlier that day, so I related the story to him. He kept glancing around the party as I spoke, then suddenly, he began to walk off. It was with shock that I took his curt dismissal of my kindness. He stormed by with little more than a word, marching through the hall directly towards my Katrina. I wasn't so dense as to not know he held affection for my lady, but... Well I thought he'd known we'd been engaged since before he arrived in town. Perhaps I should have told him.
He proposed. She declined. He ran. The night was dark, but worse, I knew the weather was growing harsh. I couldn't allow him to simply ride through the woods of rural Virginia in the height of wolf season with a storm brewing, so I quickly got to my own steed and followed him. We raced through town like shades of the night, he was shouting curses and his manner was frantic. The poor man was delirious and so stricken with grief over his lost love.
Then we approached the great bridge. The rain began to fall and his horse galloped unto the paving stones. This I remember clearly: A shine of orange in the midst of the bridge. There was a pumpkin, obviously fallen from a nearby cart, in the middle of the highpoint of the stone arch. When Ichabod's equine steed's foot crunched into the plump vegetable, the crack sounded much like that of lightning. It reared to it's feet and it's rider - my dearest friend Ichabod - was flung from it's back! I could hardly believe my eyes. The horror of it all was so stunning. He flew through the rain, illuminated by the slivers of the moonlight, in suspended motion. I believe for an instant we saw each other's faces. He was so scared, terrified.
I could do little but scream as he sunk into the river, goaded by storm waters, and was swept away. For the remainer of that night and into the next week, I rode down that dreadful river... But I could never find my poor friend Ichabod.
Nothing is perfect BUT as long as there’s my glasses in every shot it’ll be fine.
shoutout to my fellow classics student who upon hearing about the sacred band of Thebes asked the genuine question “does 150 pairs of lovers mean a guy,,,, and his horse?”
thinking about how in the odyssey, love comes in the form of recognition. to be loved is to be known and to be known is to be loved.
there are these books that seem more like a symphony, with beauty and rhythm, words rising and falling like a slow, sleeping breath, and it’s like i’m sitting in a theatre with the music echoing through me, while my eyes are closed and i watch a lifetime projected on the inside of my eyelids, and that is why i read.
