booklover reblogged
November night. Brief note to self: time to take myself in hand. To build into myself, to give myself backbone, however much I fail.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
booklover reblogged
NOVEMBER — raking leaves, Sundays in bed, reading nonstop, fresh hot coffee, comfy knits, fairy lights, crunching as you walk, long baths, laughter, warm hugs, scented candles, museum dates, journaling all your thoughts, baked goods, grocery shopping, thrift stores, cuddles with cats, golden accents, time with you
booklover reblogged
Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939–1947
booklover reblogged
The month was November, the leaves had turned to a brilliant red. What I wanted most was time to absorb something which I already knew I should never forget.
Vita Sackville-West, from Note of Another Country: Tuscany
booklover reblogged
Dreary, calm November days when there is but one cloud, but that one covers the whole heaven.
Virginia Woolf, from "Geraldine and Jane" in The Complete Works
booklover reblogged
It was the strangled cold of November; even the stars were strapped in the sky and that moon too bright forking through the bars to stick me with a singing in the head. I have forgotten all the rest.
Anne Sexton, from "Music Swims Back To Me" in The Complete Poems
booklover reblogged
L.M. Montgomery, from “The Blythes Are Quoted”
booklover reblogged
violentwavesofemotion-deactivat
Marie-Claire Bancquart, from “I Walk in the Solitude of Books,” wr. c. 1963
booklover reblogged
“the smell of rain and wet trees — the smell of the last days of November.”
— Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (trans. Philip Ó Ceallaigh)
booklover reblogged
Anne Sexton, from “Hurry Up Please It’s Time,” in The Complete Poems [ID in alt text]
booklover reblogged
May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal