Please tell me that this isn’t Ewan McGregor and Tom Hiddleston replying to each other with Othello quotes because I am going to cry.
![fyeahenglishmajorarmadillo:
[Picture: Background — a six piece pie style colour split, alternating black and grey. Foreground — a picture of an armadillo. Top text: “ [“I’m sorry, I just think that Shakespeare is boring and overrated.”] ” Bottom text: “ [Un-friend for taking Shakespeare’s name in vain.] ”]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly8lzoyho81qhe5udo1_400.jpg)
[Picture: Background — a six piece pie style colour split, alternating black and grey. Foreground — a picture of an armadillo. Top text: “ [“I’m sorry, I just think that Shakespeare is boring and overrated.”] ” Bottom text: “ [Un-friend for taking Shakespeare’s name in vain.] ”]
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume."
Shakespeare.
Mr. Shakespeare, you are sexy.
amorae:crashqueen:missblackeyeliner:hxcfairy:countingtozero | waitforthecreme:
SONNET 130 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (Audio by Alan Rickman)
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rareAs any she belied with false compare.
And this came back to me. I posted this about six months ago in here and it has 1,844 notes and it has beed played 10,039 times.
No words, just enjoy it.
SONNET 130 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (Audio by Alan Rickman)
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
