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    lickypickystickyfree:

    rosareads:bookmania:thatkindofwoman:

    Alan Rickman reads Shakespeare’s 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. 

    Alan Rickman can lull me to sleep every night if he wants to.
    I will never forget the day he picked up my stationary from the floor.

    (Source: tiny-sized, via lickystickypickywe)

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