Oh, Ill Leap Up To My God. Who Pulls Me Down?

Oh, I’ll leap up to my God. Who pulls me down?

The tragedy of Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe (via wholesomeobsessive)

…we cannot conceive that as we grow up our own minds will become so enlarged and elevated that we ourselves shall then regard as trifling those objects and pursuits we now so fondly cherish.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Brontë (via wholesomeobsessive)

Her face was immaculately made up, but an expression of extreme hostility came through the rouge and powder, a gaze as hard as pain.

High-Rise by J. G. Ballard (via wholesomeobsessive)

“I was infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now—wholly crushed and withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.”

— Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

It’s a mistake to imagine now we’re all moving towards a state of happy primitivism. The model here seems to be less the noble savage than our un-innocent post-Freudian selves, outraged by all that over-indulgent toilet-training, dedicated breast-feeding and parental affection – obviously a more dangerous mix than anything our Victorian forebears had to cope with. Our neighbours had happy childhoods to a man and still feel angry. Perhaps they resent never having had a chance to become perverse.

High-Rise by J. G. Ballard (via wholesomeobsessive)

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is must we ever be. And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that is not heaven.

Mephistopheles in Marlowe’s Dr Faustus (via wholesomeobsessive)