History Major at UMass Amherst. Incurable reader. Proud travel lover. Devoted assistant. Passionate web scholar. Prone to fits of apathy.
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/

itsyourdistraction:

micdotcom:

Charts show how history’s most brilliant people scheduled their days

Based on research from Mason Currey’s Daily Rituals: How Artists Work, Podio created beautiful charts that show how some of modern society’s greatest thinkers, writers, artists and philosophers spent their days. It begins with the earliest risers and reveals how much time each of them spent sleeping, working, socializing, relaxing, exercising and at their day jobs or doing administrative stuff like managing their holdings or paying taxes.

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Reblogged from duchessofwellington  81 notes
letter1418:

Last week, I was sitting with my team of editorial moderators when we realized we would soon pass 10,000 letters. I thought it would be interesting to find a statistic about a battle from WWI to link to this milestone. 10,000 seemed like such a massive number, and then I found this:
Battle of the Somme is famous chiefly on account of the loss of 58,000 British troops (one third of them killed) on the first day of the battle, 1 July 1916. 
I told this to my team. I wish I could put into words the silence that followed. But I can’t. I can only ask you: Sit with me a moment and be still. Sit with me for a moment and try to feel this.
It took a team of eight workers seventeen days to read 10,000 letters.
Multiply every letter we received by 5.8.
Every “Dear Daddy” letter in kids’ handwriting, sloppy and sloping off the page, or structured and school-tight.
Every “My Darling” letter from a beloved, with longing like perfume washed over the pages.
Every “My Son” and “My Brother” letter, filled with news of the family and with fear.
Every time someone wrote the words, "I don’t understand why you had to go."
Every time someone wrote, “I pray you will return.” 
Every time someone wrote (or wished), “Don’t die.” 
Multiply it.
Sit still with me a moment.
Six times that number of sons—gone.
Six times that number of friends—gone.
Six times that number, and every one connected. Every one with a mother, a father, perhaps sisters or wives or children of their own. Gone, in the space of one battle.
Our words stretch to the unknown, the lost—not the dead only, but the missing—our words stretch but they are weak. We are 10,000 letters that reach across time to heal or challenge wounds, but we do not even cover one day in battle.
My coworkers and I stopped and stared at each other over our laptops, our fingers still hovering above keys, the queue still filling up with more to be read.
We only get glimpses into the grief. We can only comprehend for fleeting moments, and it is gone again. It is too heavy. It is too hard to read another Dear Daddy, knowing that what this child imagines another child lived through.
I am a writer, and I believe that words have power. Though they be many, though they be few, these words are doing something. I don’t know what yet, but I feel them. I feel them changing me.
Will you let them change you?
- AlyssaEditorial Moderator | Letter to an Unknown Soldier Team

letter1418:

Last week, I was sitting with my team of editorial moderators when we realized we would soon pass 10,000 letters. I thought it would be interesting to find a statistic about a battle from WWI to link to this milestone. 10,000 seemed like such a massive number, and then I found this:

Battle of the Somme is famous chiefly on account of the loss of 58,000 British troops (one third of them killed) on the first day of the battle, 1 July 1916.

I told this to my team. I wish I could put into words the silence that followed. But I can’t. I can only ask you: Sit with me a moment and be still. Sit with me for a moment and try to feel this.

It took a team of eight workers seventeen days to read 10,000 letters.

Multiply every letter we received by 5.8.

Every “Dear Daddy” letter in kids’ handwriting, sloppy and sloping off the page, or structured and school-tight.

Every “My Darling” letter from a beloved, with longing like perfume washed over the pages.

Every “My Son” and “My Brother” letter, filled with news of the family and with fear.

Every time someone wrote the words, "I don’t understand why you had to go."

Every time someone wrote, “I pray you will return.”

Every time someone wrote (or wished), “Don’t die.”

Multiply it.

Sit still with me a moment.

Six times that number of sons—gone.

Six times that number of friends—gone.

Six times that number, and every one connected. Every one with a mother, a father, perhaps sisters or wives or children of their own. Gone, in the space of one battle.

Our words stretch to the unknown, the lost—not the dead only, but the missing—our words stretch but they are weak. We are 10,000 letters that reach across time to heal or challenge wounds, but we do not even cover one day in battle.

My coworkers and I stopped and stared at each other over our laptops, our fingers still hovering above keys, the queue still filling up with more to be read.

We only get glimpses into the grief. We can only comprehend for fleeting moments, and it is gone again. It is too heavy. It is too hard to read another Dear Daddy, knowing that what this child imagines another child lived through.

I am a writer, and I believe that words have power. Though they be many, though they be few, these words are doing something. I don’t know what yet, but I feel them. I feel them changing me.

Will you let them change you?

- Alyssa
Editorial Moderator | Letter to an Unknown Soldier Team

Reblogged from meowbitch1  52,654 notes

thewriters-blog:

If you ever feel like you’ve screwed up, just remember that in 1348 the Scots thought it would be a good idea to invade England because the English were weakened by the Plague. They subsequently caught the plague themselves, went back to Scotland, and killed half their own population.

Reblogged from fishingboatproceeds  1,753 notes
fishingboatproceeds:

transpondster:

On W23rd Street, between 8th and 9th, you might see this cornerstone now built into a massive old pre-war apartment complex. But Clement Moore used to own all of Chelsea, the whole neighborhood, and it’s even named after his family estate. When the city decided to run 9th Avenue through what was then basically farmland in the early 1800s, Moore objected (he was a rich guy so he even objected to paying taxes to build roads, calling those taxes and roads an attempt to placate the poor and middle class). But eventually he carved up the estate into lots and sold it off. And he wrote ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas’, aka ‘The Night Before Christmas’.
So, Moore is gone, and his house is gone, too. But his poem is still recited and this one stone remains.

Clement Moore’s second most famous work, which I read in college, is a pamphlet attacking Thomas Jefferson’s deism called “Observations upon Certain Passages in Mr. Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia, Which Appear to Have a Tendency to Subvert Religion, and Establish a False Philosophy.”

fishingboatproceeds:

transpondster:

On W23rd Street, between 8th and 9th, you might see this cornerstone now built into a massive old pre-war apartment complex. But Clement Moore used to own all of Chelsea, the whole neighborhood, and it’s even named after his family estate. When the city decided to run 9th Avenue through what was then basically farmland in the early 1800s, Moore objected (he was a rich guy so he even objected to paying taxes to build roads, calling those taxes and roads an attempt to placate the poor and middle class). But eventually he carved up the estate into lots and sold it off. And he wrote ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas’, aka ‘The Night Before Christmas’.

So, Moore is gone, and his house is gone, too. But his poem is still recited and this one stone remains.

Clement Moore’s second most famous work, which I read in college, is a pamphlet attacking Thomas Jefferson’s deism called “Observations upon Certain Passages in Mr. Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia, Which Appear to Have a Tendency to Subvert Religion, and Establish a False Philosophy.”