Answer:
nooo…. why….
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom-friend of the maturing sun, conspiring with him how to load and bless, with fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; to bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, and fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; to swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells, with a sweet kernel; to set budding more, and still more, later flowers for the bees, until they think warm days will never cease, for Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
of course my star sign is the loins
(Source: pass-that, via amateur-at-lif-e)
I’ve got an offer from Warwick, now I just need to remember how to speak french… Il ne peut pas être si difficile que ça … Oh merde, attendez-vous.