25, teacher, history student, Catholic convert, northwesterner, nerd. I like: The X-Files, 30 Rock, Mad Men, Spaced, Arrested Development, medieval history, art and iconography, sacred architecture, children's literature, Catholic novels, and all kinds of books.
Paul by signs and wonders

"Knoxville, Tennessee. 1915.
"On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have  spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my  aunt, and I too am lying there. First we were sitting up, then one of us  lay down, and then we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides,  or on our backs, and they have kept on talking. They are not talking  much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all  in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they  seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All  my people are larger bodies than mine, quiet, with voices gentle and  meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is  living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my  mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some  chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the  sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a  summer evening, among the sounds of night. May god bless my people, my  uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in  their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away."After  a little while I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws  me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one  familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not  now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am."James Agee, ‘A Death in the Family’

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Paul by signs and wonders

"Knoxville, Tennessee. 1915.

"On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. First we were sitting up, then one of us lay down, and then we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides, or on our backs, and they have kept on talking. They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine, quiet, with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of night. May god bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

"After a little while I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am."

James Agee, ‘A Death in the Family’

Aug 5th at 10AM / tagged: james agee. literature. old photo. family. / reblog / 13 notes
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    Oh my God this is my favorite thing ever. The Samuel Barber setting was my anthem as a queer-in-many-senses teenage...
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    Paul by signs and wonders
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