When he knelt in the snow beside her, her eyes opened. “Jon Snow,” she said, very softly. It sounded as though the arrow had found a lung. “Is this a proper castle now? Not just a tower?” “It is.” Jon took her hand. “Good,” she whispered. “I wanted t’ see one proper castle, before… before I…” “You’ll see a hundred castles,” he promised her. “The battle”s done. Maester Aemon will see to you.” He touched her hair. “You’re kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. It will take more than an arrow to kill you. Aemon will draw it out and patch you up, and we’ll get you some milk of the poppy for the pain.” She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.” “We’ll go back to the cave,” he said. “You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.” “Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

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4 months ago

"we are now living to a degree in a world that Nan Goldin created long before the digital camera and Instagram made it ubiquitous: a self-absorbed, often revelatory world where the everyday and the exotic exist in uneasy cohabitation. “I can’t be held responsible for all that has happened since,” she says when I bring this up, her eyes flashing and her enervated east-coast drawl undercut with just a hint of anger. “Most of that stuff is so easy and lacking in any kind of emotional depth or context. Nowadays, people forget how radical my work was when it first appeared. Nobody else was doing what I did.”"

-quoted from an in-depth piece by Sean O’Hagan about Nan Goldin (via conscientious)

40 notes | Reblog
6 months ago


10 notes | Reblog
9 months ago

The Brontë Sisters


The Brontë Sisters

1,357 notes | Reblog
1 year ago

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