Copies of Mills & Boon from Op-shops

I have a theory that nothing sexual has ever actually happened in a Mills and Boon book and that everybody who’s reading them just has a filthy mind. I mean the phrase ‘throbbing manhood’ could easily mean a general and perfectly innocent enthusiasm about doing some manly activities like building a hut or chopping some wood – get your mind out the gutter people!!!!

Anyway, I found a really large box of somebody’s old Mills and Boon collection at an op shop near my place called Posh (and as the name suggests Posh is there for when you want to class shit up!).

Lord knows why you’d want to chuck these diamonds out. They look almost as enticing as my Mum’s ironing board coverUntitled

(The towel has faded over the years, the dirty great flirt.)

Here are some pictures of the covers which seemed the most concerning:

(dude don’t tell her she’s the ‘second-best bride’ or a ‘temporary wife’ to her face! That’s cold)

(Spoilers I think the ‘Bright Idea’ is that they bone. Also the Singing Tree is a terrible penis nickname)

(Dude I don’t care if your uncle is Spanish that still doesn’t make it ok that he’s trying to crack onto you)

Poetry quotes that perfectly sum up getting your heart shat on

So sometimes in life you’ll find yourself falling for a person and basically they’re a complete fool who has shit taste and they break your heart. But look don’t worry, there are loads of poets who know and share your pain. Here are some quotes to read in the grieving period, while you’re crying into a KFC bargain bucket and putting tinder back on your phone.

His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung
..and drown the wakeful anguish of the soul
Ode on Melancholy, John Keats

I keep on dying,
Because I love to live
The Lesson, Maya Angelou

I won’t telephone him. I’ll never telephone him again as long as I live. He’ll rot in hell, before I’ll call him up. You don’t have to give me strength, God; I have it myself. If he wanted me, he could get me. He knows where I am. He knows I’m waiting here. He’s so sure of me, so sure. I wonder why they hate you, as soon as they are sure of you – A Telephone Call, Dorothy Parker

And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me – then
I scream to have you back again?
On Being a Woman, Dorothy Parker

And all I loved, I loved alone.
Alone, Edgar Allan Poe

I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore,
But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore,
As I lean and look through the glimmering light—that one has utterly disappeared,
And those appear that perplex me.
I Thought I Was Not Alone, Walt Whitman

With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
The More Loving One, W.H Auden

And pleasures flow so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love’s excess
With words of unmeant bitterness
Chistabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Since my young days of passion – joy, or pain
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string
– IV Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss:
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this
– I When We Two Parted, Lord Byron

In secret we met –
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee! –
With silence and tears
– IV When We Two Parted, Lord Byron

So we’ll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Thought my heart is still as loving,
And the moon is still as bright,
– I So We’ll Go No More A Roving, Lord Byron

When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed
Lines: ‘When the lamp is shattered’, Percy Shelley

She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O Misery
– XXX Isabella, Keats

Shakespeare Time 

….since why I love I can allege no cause – Sonnet XLIX

At yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury – sonnet XL

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give:
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I loved I view in thee
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me – XXXI

Thy proud heart’s slave
And vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain
That she makes me sin awards me pain. – CXLI

When to the sessions of sweet silence thought
I summon up remembrance of things past
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought
And with old woes new wail my dear times – XXX