I am carolyn,I'm 17, I love life, field hockey, the Yankees, and the Steelers. I'm addicted to tattoos and will blog things from tattoos and quotes to One Direction :)
"There is one scene in the book where Gus goes to a gas station, and he tries to buy a pack of cigarettes because it’s the only way he can assert his own independence after becoming very sick. He [Ansel] did that scene so much justice, and he brought his all. It was midnight when we filmed it, and he just sat there and lost it for hours. I was just sort of in awe." - Shailene Woodley
I haven’t seen the film yet and just seeing this is making me cry. FFUCK
This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.
I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.
The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.
"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"
Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.
Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.
I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.
But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.
"No, I’m good," I said.
"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.
Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—
“Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
Reader, I bought them all.
Y’all we gotta look out for each other. I know pretty everyone can’t drop what they’re doing and go to Ferguson but we can spread the news via social media. The only reason why this story ia in the mainstream media is because of twitter and IG. Don’t let this atory die and don’t forget to spread stories like this that they won’t put on the news. #ferguson
One time in sixth grade I was being bullied really badly, and this whole circle of people gathered around me and the girl that was bullying me, and she smirked and went ‘You dumb rich bitch.’ And everyone was like OOOOOOH and I stood there for a second before pulling 20 dollars out of my wallet, placed it in her hand, and said “Buy some better insults.” And I swear the entire lunchroom rioted.
This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story.
Y o u a r e a l i v e, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you’re listening to that song and that drive with the people you love most in this world. And in this moment I swear,
we are i n f i n i t e .
The fact that white people equate a Starbucks joke to being enslaved, being racially profiled, being stripped of basic human rights, being denied jobs, being treated as less than human, being seen as suspect by default, and being hated from the moment of birth just proves how far they are from seeing our side..
They have hurt feelings while we have dead children.- White people can’t experience racism (via black—lamb)