cor cordium

the world's richest people are consuming so much energy that it'll cause blackouts and accelerate global warming to build computers that call themselves mechahitler in pursuit of the elusive goal of perpetual capital accumulation with no money spent on labor

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

sometimes when a movie starts there is a scary lion but don't be scared

when mr. rochester dressed in drag as an old fortune teller and elaborately pranked an entire party partly to get jane’s attention… when mr. rochester wrote, composed, and performed an entire song for jane eyre on the spot… when mr. rochester took in his former sugar baby’s bastard child despite her presence being a painful reminder to him of her mother, and then claimed not to love the child despite spoiling her with gifts… when mr. rochester sacrificed his life trying to save his wife even though she tried to kill him multiple times and he still refused to put her in ferndean manor because he didn’t think it was good enough for her (making it meaningful that he ends up living there himself when he’s disabled, showing he prized himself less than her)… when mr. rochester took jane out for an extravagant all-day shopping trip and was way more enthusiastic about it than her… when mr. rochester shared a god-given telepathic connection with jane which induced them to reunite… when mr. rochester decided to wear the pearl necklace he originally bought for jane for forever… when mr. rochester made up a story for little adèle about jane being an elf magically sent to him from the moon… when mr. rochester pulled jane onto his horse… when mr. rochester…

my brother works on a boat so when he rants about his job I can’t take it seriously because he keeps angrily referring to his boss as “captain”. like sorry ur having 19th century sailor problems my guy

I should be allowed into every museum’s archives actually

i wish people loved everything else about keats more than they love his death - before he was ill, keats carried home shells for his little sister from his travels, he planted saplings at wentworth place, he doodled flowers in his lecture notes, he was awkward and funny and had a gift for acting. he was angry only at cruelty inflicted on the weak before he was angry at the cruelty of his own illness; he wrote poetry with the explicit purpose of healing people - as a poet, if not as a physician. his love of humanity directed his words and acts until illness slowly and surely took that ability from him, and how morbid and depressed he became in his agony is the most brutal and uninteresting part of his life.