well i’ve been afraid of changing
SOMEONE MADE THE INCEST COFFEE ADVERT EVEN MORE AWKWARD THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE
Bruce Catton, historian
I’m going to have this printed on cards and whenever someone asks me why I study history, I’m just going to hand one to them silently and walk away.
Thought this was beautiful, and had to reblog it!
I need this on my blog again because the first time I read it I actually cried.
Swinging in the backyard Pull up in your fast car Whistling my name Open up a beer And you say: ''get over here'' And play a video game
Chris Hardwick: Why did Hershel have a smile on his face?
Scott Wilson: I think it’s really a culmination of everything that happened from the first episode that he was in, where he was having conversations with Rick and subsequent conversations that he’s had throughout his run on the show with Rick and other people, where he was trying to counsel a humanity or a forgiveness or an ability to communicate with other people and try to keep a line of communication open with other people. And he heard Rick doing that, he heard Rick attempting to do that. And I think he thought at that time, “It’s going to be all right.” That thing that he tried to impart was, in fact, imparted to Rick and to other people as well.
You’re not a REAL Gatsby fan unless you’ve read the book. Unless you’ve read every Fitzgerald book. Unless you’ve read their early drafts, mailed to you by Fitzgerald himself. Unless you first read Gatsby when Scott handed it to you in a Parisian bar in 1925, apologising for the cover when he saw you disapproved. Unless you embarked on an intense friendship with him that culminated in rumours that you two were having a clandestine homosexual affair. Unless you once took him to the Louvre so you could prove to him that his penis wasn’t any smaller than those on the statues there. Unless Scott turned up, drunk and uninvited, at your house so many times that you had to move more than once. Unless you continued to exchange increasingly infrequent and terse letters with him for the rest of his life, then missed his funeral because you were in Cuba. Unless you called his literary talent “as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings” and won a Nobel prize and wrote For Whom The Bell Tolls. That’s right, you poser, if you’re not Ernest Hemingway you can fuck straight off right now. We’re on to you.