Anonymous asked: Hello there :) I was wondering if you had any book/short story/poetry recommendations for autumn? Thank you so much!
I plan on reading lots of history books and some Yeats (I’ve ordered the new Penguin Drop Caps edition of his work). I’ve always felt that Nathaniel Hawthorne books are autumn books although I’m not sure why. And Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, of course.
Currently reading The Plantagenets by Dan Jones. Poor Henry II. Surrounded by traitorous bitches.
I’m calling it the ‘ikea showroom’ aesthetic. You can see the corner of the other big set of shelves on the right :)
My room’s a tip because I just threw everything in so I’ll take photos when I’ve tidied up. I love it though, I love my new bookcases and I have so many pointless lamps and candle holders and I love them too. I also treated myself while food shopping so I now have a stash of Assam and Lady Grey tea for when things get tough.
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
– Those dying generations – at their song,
The salmon‐falls, the mackerel‐crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing‐masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Took a photo of my work corner for the local paper before it all gets packed up and moved :)