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When we started this blog, there was none of secret history fans and staff on tumblr, and now we have a little fandom. Keep enjoying it and thank you
Lizzy Stewart’s illustration for Donna Tartt’s The Secret History
she seemed not at all her bright unattainable self but rather a hazy and ineffably tender apparition, all slender wrists and shadows and disordered hair
Henry Winter and Camilla Macaulay
Pluto and Persephone.
I looked at his back, prim as a parson’s, tried to imagine the two of them together.
Charles Macaulay and Francis Abernathy
I said, “You like him a lot, don’t you?”
I don’t know what made me say this. Francis didn’t blink. “I don’t know,” he said coldly, reaching for a cigarette with his long, nicotine-stained fingers. “I like him well enough, I suppose. We’re old friends. Certainly I don’t fool myself that it’s more than that. […] If he’s drunk, I’ll do. But - just when I’ve managed to harden my heart, he’ll turn around and be so sweet. I always fall for it. I don’t know why.”
to sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! these are powerful mysteries. the bellowing of bulls. springs of honey bubbling from the ground. if we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let god consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. then spit us out reborn.
DSC_0122-2 (by enlil_corp)