Am I The Only One That Thinks We Don’t Really Know Much About Charles?

My friends: "you've never had a crush on a fictional man in a book?... you're lying"

meanwhile, men in the books I've read:

• man murders ppl to test out a theory

• man makes a person out of limbs to test the limits of science and then abandons it

• man turns into a bug and dies

• man shoots another man because the sun was too hot

• man stabs his friend because of moral corruption and arrogance

im not lying it's not that hard i promise

Man, once a month I go to into The Secret History tag and occasionally find some amazing art, but the rest 99.9% of it every time is the same 3 quotes from the book posted for the 20000th time: "I'm nothing in my soul if not obsessive", "Forgive me for all the things that I did etc etc", "Beauty is terror", "Morbid longing for the picturesque", random completely unrelated to the book dark academia moodboards, photos of Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch posts for some reason, "THE CHARACTERS ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE IT'S THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE BOOK!/!)", Henry Winter stans, Francis lovers and 'cubitum eamus', "The Secret History is so insane/so funny if you think about it-", cringey fake deep pseudophilosophical one liners.

Life is short. Drink another coffee. Read another book. Listen to your favourite song again. Hug your mom. Laugh. Cry. Dance in the rain. Push your friend off a cliff because of a milkshake.

my grandma is currently halfway through TSH and yesterday when I asked her how she likes it and she was like “well no wonder they killed Bunny”

also she has lots of other savage opinions i love her

feeling that oppressive urge to have a group of friends who have weekly dinners at someone’s apartment, flock together on campus, debate literature and philosophy over wine soaked nights, study in the library together long after everyone’s gone, write each other letters when we’re apart for the holidays, run about the woods at night and be utterly, utterly free.

gays are like: i go to the art museum. i look at a painting. i contemplate the irreconcilable loneliness at the very core of my existence. i look at another painting.

guys turns out i just had undiagnosed NPD

whole life convincing yourself that you’re emotionless, cold and unbothered only to realise many years later that you created that version of yourself because in reality you couldn’t bare the thought of being vulnerable in any way

and when you finally realise that it’s not something to be proud of you also realise that it’s too late to re-learn everything

you feel great shame because you finally see that you weren’t actually strong - all of it was a weakness. the thing you hated the most. you couldn’t embrace it

and worst of all - you realise that you’ve become exactly like the person who hurt you in the beginning

still can't get over the fact that i lost my tsh book :(

(yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist)