December 3rd
670 notes

Last night I dreamt you were dead.

November 10th
835 notes
filed as: ben whishaw
September 2nd
2,518 notes

Bright Star (2009)

June 21st
250 notes

Bright Star (2009)

filed as: Ben WhishawBright Star
April 2nd
68 notes
March 29th
347 notes

There was only one thing the perfume could not do. It could not turn him into a person who could love and be loved like everyone else. So, to hell with it he thought. To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself.

March 24th
415 notes

favourite films: Bright Star (2009)

Touch has a memory.
I know it.

February 2nd
2,251 notes


“I’m very drawn to sad things. I think it’s great being moved. I think the sensation of being moved by a piece of art is something that is really good for a person’s soul.”

filed as: ben whishaw
January 5th
6,018 notes
filed as: perfmanben whishaw
December 5th
244 notes
November 24th
24,581 notes

“007. I’m your new Quartermaster.”

“You must be joking.” 

June 18th
341 notes
June 18th
1,236 notes

My dearest lady, I am now at a very pleasant cottage window, looking onto a beautifully hilly country, with a view of the sea. The morning is very fine. I did not know how lasted my spirit may be, what pleasure I may have of living here if the remembrance of you did not weight so upon me. Ask yourself my love if you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form. I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were butterflies, and live but three summer days, three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. When you confess this in a letter, must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it. Make it rich as a draught of paupers to intoxicate me with it. Write the softest words, and kiss them…
that I may at least touch my lips to where yours have been.
- John Keats to Fanny Brawne

June 15th
1,444 notes

favourite films:
Bright Star

Poetic craft is a carcass, a sham. If poetry does not come as naturally to leaves to a tree, then it had better not come at all… A poem needs understanding through the senses. The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore, but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not work the lake out. It is an experience beyond thought. Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery.

June 14th
444 notes