So, in my haste to get going on the Spring 2012 collections, I completed A-F without waiting for the couture, which is, in essence, unforgivable. Except I’m remedying that with this post and the inclusion of couture going forward with the rest of the alphabet, so…redemption!
*All images found at The Cut, which has awesome fashion coverage.
The Jolly Boys play truly awesome mento music; there’s a short little video about them on their website that’s worth checking out. Their album Great Expectation is made up entirely of covers and they’re all grooveable, extra thanks to Albert Minott’s vocals. Some of my favorites (plus, I linked to the originals!):
Happy 2012 to all and sundry! I’m going to use the new year as a flimsy segue into this post, which is somewhat random, but does have to do with beginnings, therefore kind of connecting it?…
Anyway, moving forward from that transitional fail, we (myself, my significant other, and our two cats) have recently moved. Moving is always incredibly stressful, but even moreso for people like myself, people that are lazy to the point of it becoming a major descriptive factor. Thus, we have lived in our new place a full month, and I just now unpacked my books. It took me three hours, because I kept stopping to read and ooh and ahhh at all the things I loved. Here are some opening bits that I felt were particularly fine, and should be shared. Most of them are classic, but a few are lesser-known. Feel free to add any awesome ones you know in the comments; I could have listed quite a few more, so perhaps I’ll do a Part 2 in the future. In no particular order:
Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise’s sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save where there was some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.
-”The Yellow Face” from Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary, and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the Poconos, when wild blueberry bushes teemed with succulent fruit and the opposite sex was as mysterious as space travel; another, hours of passion on a moonlit beach in Florida, while the night-blooming cereus drenched the air with thick curds of perfume and huge sphinx moths visited the cereus in a loud purr of wings; a third, a family dinner of pot roast, noodle pudding, and sweet potatoes, during a myrtle-mad August in a midwestern town, when both of one’s parents were alive. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines, hidden under the weedy mass of many years and experiences.
-A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman
It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’m stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that’s all there was to read about in the papers–goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway.
-The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way–in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
-A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
-Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide–it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese–the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope. They got out of the EMS truck, as usual moving much too slowly in our opinion, and the fat one said under his breath, “This ain’t TV, folks, this is how fast we go.” He was carrying the heavy respirator and cardiac unit past the bushes that had grown monstrous and over the erupting lawn, tame and immaculate thirteen months earlier when the trouble began.
-The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
I was on the front porch, drowning a mouse in a bucket when this van pulled up, which was strange.
-”Nuit of the Living Dead” from Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
My parents were not the type of people that went to bed at a regular hour. Sleep overtook them, but neither the time nor the idea of a mattress seemed very important. My father favored a chair in the basement, but my mother was apt to lie down anywhere, waking with carpet burns on her face or the pattern of the sofa embossed into the soft flesh of her upper arms. It was sort of embarassing. She might sleep for eight hours a day, but they were never consecutive hours and they involved no separate outfit. For Christmas we would give her nightgowns, hoping she might take the hint. “They’re for bedtime,” we’d say, and she’d look at us strangely, as if, like the moment of one’s death, the occasion of sleep was too incalculable to involve any real preparation.
-”Full House” from Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard–and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable independence, besides two good livings–and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as any body might expect, she still lived on–lived to have six children more–to see them growing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself.
-Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.
-Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen