My name is KJ/Kerry-Jean.
I’m a 24 year old trying to make it in the exciting world of teaching high school history. Due to the complete lack of available education jobs right now, I’m currently stuck working as a substitute teacher. The only highlight of this situation is that I had ample time to complete my Master’s Degree in History.
Reading has always been a passion of mine. What started as an interest in classic mythology and fairy tales as a kid has now blossomed into a fairly substantial obsession with building up my personal library. I don’t read for escapism, but rather to push my mind to new limits, so I’ll admit to being a bit of snob when it comes to literature. I will always read a book before criticizing it, but I have difficulty taking some of my friends seriously when they gush over the newest romances or vampire trends.
This blog is my love note to literature. I use it to explore many different genres at once, discuss some of my favorite authors, and highlight books that I feel deserve more credit from the general audience. If you ever have suggestions or are looking for recommendations, I’m all ears.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
- Sara Teasdale
- William Cowper (1731 - 1800)
- Vladimir Nabokov (via unsunglory)
- Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte (via readlikebreathing)
Siri Hustvedt, The Summer Without Men
This quote goes out to all the fellas who read fiction. This quote does not go out to the dude who once told me, “I don’t really like female writers as much as male writers.” For real. That happened. The fact that he is still alive and that I have not murdered him speaks to my restraint.
- Neil Gaiman, American Gods (via excessivebookshelf)
- Desiderius Erasmus, Colloquies: Of the Method of Study (via litverve)
- Ralph Waldo Emerson (via restaurer)
- Stephen Fry (via bytheredsunofkrypton)
Harriet Martineau (via breathingbooks)
I like this. I like this very, very much.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
- John McCrae
- On Beauty - Zadie Smith (via papercutmagnet)