queens, witches, and warriors → ophelia
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laura Marling & Eddie Berman - Like A Rolling Stone (x)
omg, i’m in love.
all i want is an apartment in a city and a decent job, a dog, wifi and a tv, and someone to have sex with
40 days left→ Spells"Magic is dangerous: it’s neither good nor bad, right nor wrong; it can be both a blessing and a curse. It takes strength, the strength of a witch, to make the magic her own, to make it serve her, and not the other way around. "
pooh-bear and piglet ❤
THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING EVER!!