For the Love of Lit
LitLove is a place where literature and pop culture collide.
And other literary musings.
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Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brighten’d his pathway of pain,
But he ne’er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with you.And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where’er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o’er with your smiles —
Too blest, if it tells me that, ‘mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice has murmur’d, “I wish he were here!”Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill’d!
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill’d —
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.Thomas Moore -
the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottle-neck of the most recent decade of years.William Faulkner, “A Rose for Emily”
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Fool, my muse said to me, look in thy heart and write.Sir Philip Sydney,Astrophel and Stella Sonnet 1
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“Absolutely no information on killing mocking birds.”
(Source: thecatcherintheryebread)
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Photo reblogged from I Heart Classics
First Look: The Great Gatsby movie poster. Eeeee-is it December yet?
December is a month of greats!!!! Gatsby and the Hobbit!!
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“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”Translation:
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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Act I Scene I
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“There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion.”
