When Sunflowers Can't Find The Sun,

Details: Seascape, Alfred Thompson Bricher, 1890

book dedications are so tender here is this piece of art i made for an audience of thousands. but really every word is for you

You’re just lovely

Awww, thank you!! Love from Italy!!!

Yours,

Giulia :)

I haven’t finished Emma yet, but I have a theory. I’ve had this theory ever since we first saw Emma, Harriet, and Mr. Elton in a room together, but I’m just sharing it now. I think Mr. Elton might like Emma and not Harriet? No, I’m nearly positive. I guess we’ll see?

This very morning, my history professor picked up the book I was reading, looked me in the eye, and said “Don’t read Wuthering Heights.” He then proceeded to walk away and continue class.

I believe that a morning should never describe a day. Of course, I don’t believe mornings listen to mortal pleas and reasoning, but I try to enact this rule myself. Yet, it is a morning’s nature to bleed into your perception of a day, tint it with sorrow or with beauty. The only times when I forbid myself from enforcing this rule is when my day is unknowingly stricken with a morning of perfect quiescence, an awake before the world has begun to turn. Those rare mornings can feel free to pour through the seams of time and stain the parchment of afternoons and evenings a beautiful shade of rose. I’m quite a hypocrite, I do know.

“Vive vitam tuam, nam morte tua morieris.”

Live your own life, for you will die your own death.

She read books like she ran into the woods, each tree consuming her slowly as she disappeared into the green.