July 2009
23 posts
happy birthday
to me.
“Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there, had not brought Heathcliff so low I shouldn’t have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”
-Catherine Earnshaw, Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
Sometimes I forget how fucking much I love The Thermals.
Yeah, here’s your future.
FACT:
i don’t give a shit if it’s ironically fashionable, you hipsters, or if it’s on the frontpage of urbanoutfitters, i will never, ever think you look cool in acid wash jeans. sorry, bro.
you do what you love
and fuck the rest.
“Boy, when you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.”
—holden caulfield, the catcher in the rye. salinger.
