It is that I insist too much in finding a world, a reality that it’s too long gone? Or is it just that it’s actually never existed? Is it that I prefer dreaming because life is much too disappointing?
After the ball, the spell is broken. Cut from Walt Disney’s Cinderella (1950)
Gustaf Tenggren‘s concept art for 1937 Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
No kiss is better than just one.
Courtship in the west, by T.W. Huffam (nineteenth century)
Take good care of flattering words, especially those that come from weak personalities or egos as huge as one’s own. They’re a deadly trap.
American illustrator Tom Lovell‘s Up the staircase (1942)
Romanticism is bullshit. It’s just some ancient mean scheme men designed to woo women to bed.
*Title’s an excerpt from William Shakespeare‘s Sonnet 129: Th’Expense Of Spirit In A Waste Of Shame
Maurice Ronet considering committing suicide in this still from Louis Malle‘s Le feu follet (1963)
I am quite aware of my own neurotic condition, but I’ve always wondered if I’m not well prepared for what this world and life have to offer to me, or it’s just the other way around.
How to fix something broken 