The sweet silence of musty bookshelves

Nat, 17, Australia
Shadowhunter, House Stark, Ravenclaw, Timelord

There’s some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.

(Source: pelennors, via m-ordor)

get to know me meme: [3/5] shows » game of thrones

Oh, my sweet summer child. What do you know about fear? Fear is for the winter when the snows fall a hundred feet deep. Fear is for the the long nights when the sun hides for years, and children are born and live and die, all in darkness

(via tothless)


The Bridge of Sighs, Venice, 1835, James Holland


The Bridge of Sighs, Venice, 1835, James Holland

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming.”

I find myself thinking about Yeats’ “rough beast” a lot of late. Yeats thought a shared apocalypse was nigh. But it seems to the beast comes for us one at a time.

(via fishingboatproceeds)

skinny but well-muscled, with a round face, crooked teeth, a slightly upturned nose, and a smile that lit up her face. Her hair, fiery red and a tangle of curls. kissed by fire. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn.

(Source: lebaratheon, via theherondalemenhateducks)

And Death, in his shame,

built a kingdom from dust

as penance, as proof,

that his fingers were made

for more than destruction.

emily palermo (via miaiphonos)

(Source: unexcusable, via thebookhangover)

He danced on the knife’s edge between awareness and sleep. When he dreamt like this, he was a king. The world was his to bend. His to burn.

Maggie Stiefvater, The Dream Thieves (via suzywire)

(Source: sansastarkt, via suzywire)


Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900), “The Black Sea at night”, 1879.


Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900),
“The Black Sea at night”, 1879.

(via richardegansey)

King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.

(Source: seerspirit, via thesoulofawarrior)

Why is the rum always gone?

(Source: wearyvoices, via theheirsofdurin)

Tyrion wanted to slap him, to spit in his face, to draw his dagger and cut the heart out of him and see if it was made of old hard gold, the way the smallfolks said. Yet he sat there, silent and still.

(Source: jaimelannister, via suzywire)

none now live who remember it.

(Source: pelennors, via m-ordor)