June 26th, 2014 at 5:09PM

A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.

You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.

A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.

You are in a garden, and you are astonished.

 — How To Tell If You Are In A Jane Austen Novel (via jeanpaulfarte)

(via bowiesnippleantennae)
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