“Oh, look, here’s a big bee just tumbled out of an apple tree. Just think what a lovely place to live - in an apple blossom! Fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn’t a human girl I think I’d like to be a bee and live among the flowers.”
Chapter VIII. {Anne’s Bringing-Up Is Begun} Anne of Green Gables
I kind of love that one of Jane Austen’s biggest fans was the Prince Regent (later George IV). She didn’t think very well of the nobility in general, but she motherfucking hated him, a wastrel who very flagrantly cheated on his wife.
But he loved her writing, was the first recorded purchaser of Sense and Sensibility, and kept copies of her books in all his residences. She never made enough from her writing to live on during her lifetime, so this wasn’t support she could casually toss aside. His librarian kept suggesting ideas for new books to her, which she turned down with exquisite politeness. Much to her aggravation, she found herself obliged to dedicate Emma to the man.
Local Novelist Is So Talented She Can’t Beat Royal Patron Off With A Stick
I’ve thought about it and this is so funny because a moral novelist having to civilly endure being patronized by a dissolute nobleman who loves but also totally doesn’t get her books is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in a Jane Austen novel.
I just know that when Romeo and Juliet premiered two ye olde girlies in the pit at intermission were like didst thou see the sparks betwixt Tybalt and mercutio… aye and not from their swords alone!
minos was such a pussy. if my wife gave birth to an epic minotaur baby i wouldn’t have locked him in a labyrinth. i would have taken him to the mcdonalds play place (athens) every day and let him eat as many stray mcnuggets (athenians) off the floor as he wanted. i love you hungry son
(pulling a painted vase out of my wallet) and this is my youngest at his first nose ring fitting. isn’t he handsome
“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”
