Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good;
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

Act V, Scene 1; Shakespeare's Measure for Measure

So I'm in love with the Duke... Why, oh why, do I always go for these actor types? He even offered me a ride to my car tonight, but did I take it? Ohhh no. Maybe next time I won't miss my cue.

In English... yes, my teacher is still amazing and wonderful. We went over T.S Eliot's "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" today (a beautiful, dusty, long-afternoon poem); one of his personal favorites, and one of mine, too. As he played a recording of Eliot reading in that high-toned, scratchy St. Louis intonation, his eyes fell dimly shut, a smile played on the corner of his lips... "In the room, the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo..." The sunlight fell casually on his shoulders, one seemingly lost in words and verse, and the curvature of his handsome dark face fairly oozed Eliot's expressions. My head crooked gently in my hand, I dreamed of light and dust and his long eyelashes falling gentle to meet me...