When I lived in Mountain Grove, I would “help” my parents rake the yard by sitting in giant piles of leaves and reading my library books. I’d read just about anything, from Maniac Magee to Anne of Green Gables, from Little Women to The Babysitters Club.
(Source: scarlet-skies-dark-thoughts, via italktosnakes)
Thanks for the shot of confidence, Approval Matrix!
Reblogging for Busy Monsters: “featuring aliens, Sasquatch, and a go-for-broke, funny-as-hell narrator.” Book list of required reading be damned (yes, I’m talking to you, Jane Austin).
Also: “Sufjan Stevens’s sparkly disco-angel concert outfits in Prospect Park.” You keep on truckin’, love.
"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."
first two paragraphs from Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. I’m only on page 18, but thus far this book so wonderfully Updike-ian in its writing. Which is to say, both beautiful and disturbing.