Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin, another’s voice, another’s soul.
Joyce Carol Oates (via observando)
and my U.S. History teacher was trying to get us to understand why it was such a big deal that England had put a tax on colonial sugar, and he goes,
"What if you had to pay a tax every time you logged onto wifi?"
And the whole class just went
and I heard at least two people whisper “I would murder someone”
I will keep reblogging this in the name of historical science
I am made for autumn. Summer and I have a fickle relationship, but everything about autumn is perfect to me. Wooly jumpers, Wellington boot, scarves, thin first, then thick, socks. The low slanting light, the crisp mornings, the chill in my fingers, those last warm sunny days before the rain and the wind. Her moody hues and subdued palate punctuated every now and again by a brilliant orange, scarlet or copper goodbye. She is my true love.
A recipe for Rowan Jelly by Alys Fowler (via iphigenias)
(Source: toasttravels.co.uk, via unkemptkarma)