What do we have here? Looks like a 20th century binding containing TWO 15th century texts! That’s right, this is a sammelband, a book comprised of two or more separate works, together in the same binding. Here we have Gesta Romanorum, a book of anecdotes and tales in Latin that was probably compiled around the late13th or early 14th century (Wikipedia). Following that we find Historia destructionis Troiae, a prose epic written in the 13th century by Guido delle Colonne about Troy (also in Latin). Both texts were printed by Georg Husner in Strassburg, 1499. Since they were printed within months of each other, it is possible that the two texts have been bound together for a very long time. Gesta and Historia are separated by two un-printed pages, which a previous owner covered in some rather raucous doodles. There is also conservation work on some of the pages, which is visible in some of the photos. Thus, this book, which looks so simple on the outside, is a rich compendium of book phenomena.
Gesta Romanorum. Strassburg, Printer of the 1483 Jordanus de Quedlinburg (Georg Husner), Jan. 7-12, 1499. Special Collections x-Collection PA8320 1499 Bound with: Colonne, Guido delle, 13th cent. Historia destructionis Troiae. Strassburg, Georg Husner, July 25. Special Collections x-Collection PA8320 1499
Post by Laura H.
The former South African president died today at age 95. Remember him through his uplifting and revolutionary words.
|—||Mary Shelley (via theydontwantustoescape)|
10 Amazing Abandoned Places Around the Globe
- Spree Park, Berlin, Germany
- Hotel del Salto in Colombia - featured previously on Curious History
- Gulliver’s Travels Park, Kawaguchi, Japan
- Abandoned mill in Sorrento, Italy
- Mirny (Mir) Mine is a former open pit diamond mine located in Mirny, Eastern Siberia, Russia - The second largest man-made hole in the world
- The abandoned flats in Keelung, Taiwan
- Holland Island in the Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, United States
- Craco is an abandoned commune and Medieval village in Italy
- Dadipark Dadizel in Belgium
- Abandoned train depot in Czestochowa, Poland
Where do you get your ideas from?
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter
women were the ones who started wars
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running
And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I look up war statistics
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I look up when the blender was invented
“I’m a writer” I whisper as I figure out how many times you can get shot without dying
“I’M A WRITER” I shout when someone uses my laptop and I left the page open to stab-wound references.
“I’M A WRITER!” I yell as I stare at a wall for hours instead of actually writing.
Victo Ngai, ilustradora chinesa.
“Não é nenhum segredo que gosto de encher minhas ilustrações com detalhes. Eu quero que o espectador se perca nesse mundo e descubra mais coisas cada vez que re-visitar a obra”
He was the color of blood, not the springing blood of the heart but the blood that stirs under an old wound that never really healed. A terrible light poured from him like sweat, and his roar started landslides flowing into one another. His horns were as pale as scars.
For one moment the unicorn faced him, frozen as a wave about to break. Then the light of her horn went out, and she turned and fled. The Red Bull bellowed again, and leaped down after her.
|—||Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn, Chapter 8 (via miggylol)|