Showing posts with label JM Barrie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JM Barrie. Show all posts

Friday, November 20, 2015

Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and The Raven all jazzed up in pillow form.



Once in a great while we dive into literary home decor--and nothing says home decor like a bachelor who writes a blog.

I'm an insomniac. This means I have no use for pillows, because I'm just going to be walking around the house, doing jumping jacks, wind sprints, and drinking a gallon or two of coffee. No sleeping after all.

But maybe--just maybe--if I had a pillow with inspirational Peter Pan quotes written all across it about the magic of sleep, I might just end up in the Land of Nod for once.

Sweet Meadow Designs creates a variety of pillow designs, most with words and phrases--but they also rely on quotes from Lewis Carroll, J.M. Barrie, and even a little Edgar Allan Poe.






The Raven pillow looks amazing, but if I'm going to sleep--ever--I don't need something reminding me "Nevermore."



all from: Sweet Meadow Designs



Sunday, August 14, 2011

Famous Last Words: Virginia Woolf couldn't keep things pithy even in death.



The Huffington Post has a photo slideshow about famous author's last words.

Half of them are probably apocryphal. I can't believe that Oscar Wilde is glib and sassy just as death awaits, or that poet Walter De La Mare's last words just happened to be so poetically stated as: "Too late for fruit. Too soon for flowers." Sure, pops. Whatever you say.

But I do believe that J.M Barrie was pretty straight-forward and said, hey, you know what? "I can't sleep." Sounds logical when your lungs are filled with pneumonia.

Or Franz Kafka losing his mind and screaming at a doctor to kill him. "Kill me or you are a murderer!" Sounds like a logical thing to say when tuberculosis is starving you. It's short, it's to the point, and you kind of get the subtle gist he's pretty ticked.

Anton Chekhov? "It's been a long time since I drank champagne." He apparently downed the drink, went to bed, and died. Did he toast his death? ((shrugs shoulders)) Sure, why not?

But Virginia Woolf--ahh, Virginia. Her suicide note runs 294 words. 294 final words. Shockingly, it wasn't written in a one sentence long giant block of text that lulls you into a mild state of unconsciousness.