“Printer’s ink has been running a race against gunpowder these many, many years. Ink is handicapped, in a way, because you can blow up a man with gunpowder in half a second, while it may take twenty years to blow him up with a book. But the gunpowder destroys itself along with its victim, while a book can keep on exploding for centuries.”—Christopher Morley, The Haunted Bookshop (via observando)
If corals get stressed they die, so if I was coral I would be dead
what do coral even get stressed about
guys, i work at an aquarium and my coworkers and i have literally laughed at this for three days straight. everytime we pass each other we whisper “current events” and crack up. our customers think we are nuts.
“As Arnold points out, there is an otherwise inexplicable shift in direction in the Piccadilly line passing east out of South Kensington. “In fact,” she writes, “the tunnel curves between Knightsbridge and South Kensington stations because it was impossible to drill through the mass of skeletal remains buried in Hyde Park.” I will admit that I think she means “between Knightsbridge and Hyde Park Corner”—although there is apparently a “small plague pit dating from around 1664” beneath Knightsbridge Green—but I will defer to Arnold’s research.
But to put that another way, the ground was so solidly packed with the interlocked skeletons of 17th-century victims of the Great Plague that the Tube’s 19th-century excavation teams couldn’t even hack their way through them all. The Tube thus had to swerve to the side along a subterranean detour in order to avoid this huge congested knot of skulls, ribs, legs, and arms tangled in the soil—an artificial geology made of people, caught in the throat of greater London.”—
“Every introvert alive knows the exquisite pleasure of stepping from the clamor of a party into the bathroom and closing the door.”—Sophia Dembling - The Introvert’s Way: Living a Quiet Life in a Noisy World (via dianekrugers)
“Each person is a great mystery, to himself and to others. We see the ever-changing play of light and shadow upon the superficial aspects of ourselves, but of the endless depths that lie beneath we are for the most part ignorant or unconscious. At any time, however, currents flowing from these depths may sweep us unexpectedly into thoughts, actions, or even lifestyles we would now find inconceivable. We may then rise to heights of achievement or fall far below what we would have believed possible in others. Yet how easy it is to pass judgment based on what people manifest of themselves outwardly at any given time, as if this could approach the totality of who they really are.”—Sarah Belle Dougherty. With gratitude to Whiskey River. (via crashinglybeautiful)
“Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”—Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Wrinting and Life. (via bookporn)
I know it’s sad and it feels like we’ve all been collectively kicked in the chest. And it’s okay to feel sad. It hurts because someone you’ve grown up loving is no longer there, even if that person wasn’t at the forefront of your thoughts.
But if there is one unifying element to every single film