Tom Hiddleston reading Shakespeare Sonnet 130
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.
(Source: halmablog, via littllemissmagic)
Plans to stop me getting so fat.
1. Revise more.
2. Read. I never eat when I read.
3. Learn Shakespearian monologues off by heart.
4. Bloody re-learn Prufrock.
5. Stop being such a Hester. Freddie’s gone.
The more ascerbic the words, the more antiseptic in their purpose, the better I’ll be.
