“Fiction teaches us that the sorrows of living are meaningful. Fiction restores the meaning. The experience which is being lived day by day may seem futile, destructive because the vision of totality is lacking. In the novel it acquires a pattern. It is fiction. It reaches beyond pain to the pattern of meaningfulness which consoles us for all the agonies, and uncovers elevations.”
Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume Five 1947-1955
I got these gorgeous Waterhouse mugs and I never want to drink tea from anything else ☕🌹
Set of taxidermied mole bookends that I kind of wish I’d had £320 and a massive gothic library for
(Red Brick Market, Baltic Triangle, Liverpool)
I really enjoy just existing in hotels. The long identical hallways. The soulless abstract art. The weird noises the air-conditioner makes. Strange city lights in the window. Six stories off the ground. Strangers chatting in the hall. Nothing in the dresser. No past, but an infinite present.