L’amour s’en va comme cette eau courante
L’amour s’en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l’Espérance est violent

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

--guillaume apollinaire

( Private. )

( Private. )

( Private. )

...is it me, or has the entire universe turned to shit?

Gringotts. The Ministry. Rabastan Lestrange's damned uncomfortable sofa.
Anthony being afraid that Percy is de--.

The fact that we have no food in this damn house, not even the ingredients for pudding-cake, you know, the chocolate cake that goes over all melty in the middle.

It's as though all of the words worth using have been used up on stupid things - advertisements and magazines and television. What's the point of any of it?

( hexed private, although poorly -- [edit; properly done now] )

[Private]

Winter is leaving...turning back into spring, a bit more every day, and that is sad, somehow, profoundly. I hate the sunlight. I hate the out-of-doors. I hate looking back on my life with another year gone and nothing to show for it except a handful of failed novel starts, a boyfriend [--hate that term and isn't it ironic that this ( Read more... )

Lesson of the day:
When you're watching the television and the programme's on with that Frenchman who makes all kinds of fancy things and he warns you to be careful when you're trying it at home because the sugar is very hot, but you don't pay attention because who would do that at home? You really should have paid attention because some day you'll ( Read more... )

Note to self:

Less Garcin.

More Inès.

Really Really Stupid Things I Have Done Lately: A List by C. L. Warrington ( Read more... )

Well.

....shit.