I’m in the process of watching the 1980 TV series, Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth Garvie is wonderful, but there will only ever be one Elizabeth Bennet for me.Image{Jennifer Ehle, source: Fanpop}




I recently read several articles discussing the prevalence of Mormon women in the lifestyle blogosphere. While I know very little about the LDS Church, and find generalizations to be pretty much useless in any context, I have definitely noted how many of the lifestyle blogs I love are written by Mormons – and, additionally, that my growing familiarity with these individuals through their writing, art, and photo curation has dismantled many of my ignorant assumptions about their religion.

{LDS Temple, Los Angeles, source: Natalie Marie}


Some images of writers and artists remain indelible – I’m thinking of those famous images of a bespectacled James Joyce and an ethereal Virginia Woolf. The list goes on. One of the images I love the best, though, is a picture Carl Van Vechten took of Zora Neale Hurston in 1938. I love her style (prose and clothes).

Zora Neale Hurston, 1938 (photo by Carl Van Vechten)


“We don’t like to admit it,” said Julian, “but the idea of losing control is one that fascinates controlled people such as ourselves more than almost anything. All truly civilized people – the ancients no less than us – have civilized themselves through the willful repression of the old, animal self. Are we, in this room, really very different from the Greeks or the Romans? Obsessed with duty, piety, loyalty, sacrifice? All those things which are to modern tastes so chilling?” – The Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)

Bacchus, Michelangelo (1497)


“Her statues resembled each other in a certain characteristic spareness, a seeming unwillingness to cover the armature and skeleton of being. Each one of her statues resembled her, unfinished, half-realized, half-comprehended images of herself, and the image of herself was in the music. A fluted line hung in air, curled inward upon itself, fell, like a piece of curled white string. It fell into shadows, silence and darkness.” -Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Her (1960)