My-dearest-giulia - GIULIA

Interviewer: What difference in usage would you point out in these three languages [Russian, English, French], these three instruments?

Nabokov: Naunces. If you take framboise in French, for example, it’s a scarlet color, a very red color. In English, the word raspberry is rather dull, with perhaps a little brown or violet. A rather cold color. In Russian it’s a burst of light, malinovoe; the word has associations of brilliance, of gaiety, of ringing bells. How can you translate that?

- Vladimir Nabokov, Think, Write, Speak: Uncollected Essays, Reviews, Interviews and Letters to the Editor. Bryan Boyd and Anastasia Tolstoy, Eds.

THE ARCHIVES

Prose and Poems:

Poems

A Poem About Rain

Icarus Also Flew

An Ode to Rays of Sun

To learn that

Jealousy

Eyes

Women

A Pretty Little Message to Myself

She

An Ode to Pools of Moonlight

A Poem of Many Poems

If I Don’t Love You

Achilles and the London Boy

Sunlit Gold

A Flower-Scented Morning

Hungover on Tears

A Magnolia Tree Kiss

“What is happiness?”

Giulia’s New Book

Meeting Diana

Giulia’s Diary:

Personal

Giulia Has a Crush

Linguistics, My Beloved

Last Book That I…

Flowers and Vanilla and Sunlight

Mornings

Goodbye, Achilles and the London Boy :(

Book-Related

Sense and Sensibility

Butterfly Bookmark

Emma

History Class Advice

Giulia’s Predictions 1

Giulia’s Predictions 2

The Secret History

Camilla Macaulay

Odds and Ends:

Quotes

A Book I’ll Never Write

To define is to limit, darling.

Books and Forests

The Secret History

“Goodness, you magpies.”

“It’s nothing.”

Everything was bathed in celestial light.

“But how,” said Charles…

That was a cozy night, a happy night…

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

My heartbeat trembled in my fingertips…

The wind was up…

Shades of Eton

Unworldly airs of ancient romance that…

The Iliad

Anguish gripped Achilles…

Other

I Loved My Friend

It isn’t Spring until…

Vive vita tua, nam morte tua morieris.

Photos

Books and Tea

Notes Scrawled in Margins

Tweed Blazer Outfit

Books and Flowers

Academy on the Hill

Home Screen

Italian Dialects Alignment Chart

Good Morning, May

The Secret History

Giulia on Pinterest

Pink Flower

Joseph Leyendecker Illustration

Joseph Leyendecker Illustration II

Photo Boards

Achilles and the London Boy

First Photo Board

First Photo Board, Labeled

ArtBreeder Photo Board

When Haruki Murakami said, "Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum - a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself." And when Audrey Hepburn said, "Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering - because you can't take it in all at once."

Reblog this to prove your blog was made before the February 2022 tumblr resurgence

the poetry students

as requested by @shout-into-the-voiddd

reciting stanzas of your favorite poems under the light of the moon

pages covered in notes and annotations

repeating words aloud to feel how they roll through your mouth

a love for beauty and the many ways it can be expressed

quiet moments outside, listening to the sounds of nature

paying attention to little things others might miss

understanding the importance of diction and figurative language

studying the lives of famous poets, seeing how their worlds impacted their writing

the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot

an appreciation for those who can use a few words to communicate something infinitely complicated

long hours curled up reading in your favorite chair

feeling a sense of camaraderie between yourself and your favorite poets

thin poetry volumes stacked on your shelves

a love for metaphor and simile

reading the works of Langston Hughes and Emily Dickinson, Jamaica Kincaid and Lord Byron, appreciating the infinite variety

a messy desk, drawers filled with an array of papers

awe over how mere words on a page can transmit deep emotion

cloudy mornings

a notebook filled with half-formed poems, lines and stanzas borne from a moment of inspiration

warming your fingers on a mug of hot tea

seeking a way to capture the human condition in ink on the page

using poetry to make sense of your world and experiences

Ahem, I may or may not have read far too many novels recently. How do I know this? I have now developed a slight crush on my academic rival in school. Goodness.

06.18.22

headed to visit friends for the long weekend ,, i always have such a hard time convincing myself to go places when i get in a routine w school or work, but you gotta take advantage of the time you have ig

🎧: the door is closing - spirit of the beehive

Alexander’s golden hair shone in the glass sunlight, a moment so perfect it seemed it could fracture at the smallest breath. His eyes looked like green crystals, flicks of blue emerging in the sun.

Alexander didn’t notice this, but Theo did, gazing up at the window. He looked back down at his tattered copy of the Iliad, wondering what book Alexander was reading. The sun was setting, making the world look like a haze of pink and purple. Theo looked at the cotton candy clouds, unaware that Alexander was looking right down at him, sitting on the bench next to the road. Alexander closed his book, Jane Austen’s Emma, and smiled a little half-smile, looking at the way the orange sky reflected off of Theo’s eyes. Those eyes flicked to his, Alexander turning away a few seconds too late, the grin disappearing from his face. Theo’s smile, on the other hand, only widened. Alexander chided himself for his incompetence and looked over at the door of his room, still seeing those gilded curls. He blinked quickly, trying to get them out of his vision. He looked back down at the sidewalk; the boy had gone from the wooden bench. He forced himself to look back at his book.