Dead Poets Society Ambience: Studying at Welton (With Talking) 

This is so good! I played this while I was studying and it was so cool because it literally felt like I was going to a study group with all the dead poets 😂💛

The urge to go to Welton with the dps boys, and hogwarts is reaching its peak now :(

Ahh what a specific and niche vid to make but I am so glad you did!! Legit found this just in time when writing my final essay.

You are God, you say we should have a Welton vibe video ! no but seriously thank you so much i was looking for this for a looooonnnng time !

i’m shifting with this video, thank you for this gem!!!!

this is so perfect THANK YOU

this popped up in my recommended section, and i freakin love it! I'm trying to write, and this helps a lot!

I don't know you but I love you for making this. ♡♡♡

remember, guys the name is nuwanda

[ She -- Dead Poets Society ] “She can't write these words and show them, the time it took her to put the tip of the pen to the page was too long. She thinks it's not worth it; that her words are ordinary and slow because they don't come out the right way, she thinks it's impossible that a living person would be interested in them. She adores art in each of its disparate forms; writing, theater, music, she longs for the time she spends with them. Her face transforms and grows somber when she wonders why such a deed is popularly ignored, what does it take for much of the human race to stop being silenced? what does it take for beauty to have a new reconquest? For people to seek new lands and fall prey to the feeling of agony, of madness, of new inner adventures deep in the caves! She weeps when she sees an instrument covered in dust, when she enters empty museums and the faces in oil paints look at her with sorrow and are grateful that even oblivion has not fallen upon them; her breath is shortened when she enters a theater and her gaze is lost with innocence on the stage, on the enigmatic sky. So much history, so many eyes and beating hearts that have passed through the same place with a story to hear and a confession to leave behind enclosed in that sky, embedded in the walls, witness on a stage full of sins. Her sight blurs as she sees hundreds of books piled on the road in the rain, hundreds of tales and stories placed in garbage bags; her heart stops and her soul recites, prays and screams on the sidelines of the artists the world has taken from us, of minds that are nothing more than worm food. A world wary and controlled by a pain that it has created. She cries out in memory of all who have visited hell and found solace in this, the art that is pure and sinister. She cries for all the stories and words that are being erased by that same rain that, as she looks, she feels guilt for considering beautiful; her tears are grateful for the gray clouds at the thought that there are still people who wander lost, those with the soul of an artist, called misunderstood. A strength that goes far beyond what demons and voices are capable of tolerating, a legacy that not even her own insecurities can leave behind, because it is the only thing she can do for humanity, the only thing that can save it. She laments everyone who locks away the desperate desires of a hungry heart, hungry for more than the crumbs of silence and fear. She penetrates the dreams of others and rejoices those who sharpen their ears, stretch their arms towards those forbidden drawers and open them, even with their eyes tightly closed. She whispers: "don’t be afraid and see what you have made with your own hands, it is your legacy: the way in which you can be heard even when the years go by. Look at it, hold it between your fingers, it may be heavy or light, but it is your manuscript. The words you have never said, the verses you have never read, the fears you have never overcome, the ghosts you keep stumbling over, the urge to vomit when you are a second away from discovering the truth, your mother's smile, the scent of trees, of freshly cut grass, of old books... they are there. Everything is engraved there, written in scribbles you won't be able to understand, in letters that matured over the years, that's where all this I've recited comes from: a memory of what is new and what is old." And in spite of everything, she keeps wondering if this leaf, the greatest oath of her life so far will be reduced to ashes and if its words will become yellowed pages. She keeps questioning herself, with tears and a bitter voice: what will last until the end?” PD: I couldn't help but be inspired by listening to these pieces of art, they really inspired me. Thanks for bringing us this playlist! ♥

oh my goodness I love you for this!! I honestly can't believe I was lucky enough to stumble upon this video just a few days after you posted it. I owe you big time, this gave me the motivation I needed to finish my homework on time for once haha. seriously though, great work-- if you end up trying your hand at more audios in the future, I'll 100% be sure to check them out. lots of love! ♡♡♡

This is so gooooood!! Ahhh i love it, and I love your channel name as well

this is what I've been always looking for, thank you so much ♥︎

love ♥️

I LOVE THIS SM pls make another one !

Needed this in my LIFE!!!!!!!!

I LOVE YOU THANK YOU SM FOR THIS

thank you so much!

hey! you know where to see the movie with subtitles in Spanish?♡