let all the autumn art/fic work begin
“For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison’d by their wives: some sleeping kill’d;
All murder’d: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour’d thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
― William Shakespeare, Richard II
Sometime between Perfume and Cloud Atlas, Ben Whishaw grew up.
If the diagnosis is straightforward, he can prescribe a remedy, I’m sure.
And what if it isn’t?
Then he can bring his findings to me.
"Findings"? Merlin can’t find his own backside most of the time.
The first episode of friends aired 20 years ago today on September 22th, 1994
It’s like all of my life everybody has always told me “You’re a shoe! You’re a shoe, you’re a shoe, you’re a shoe!” And then today I just stopped and I said “What if I don’t wanna be a shoe? What if I wanna be a purse? You know? Or a hat?”
“My parents have Google Alerts on me. So they’ll often times send me an e-mail and be like, “Hey did you know this?” And then I’ll be like, “Well, it is, like, my life. So yes, I did know that.” Or , “that’s not even true. I don’t know where you read that.” I have Googled myself, yes. But my parents really have Google Alerts on me.”