February 2011
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“Childhood is a colony of astonished words.”
– Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions: Volume I [The Book of Yukel, Return to the Book], translated by Rosmarie Waldrop
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“Superior gardens are composed of Glooms and Solitudes and not of plants and...”
– Ian Hamilton Finlay, Detached Sentences on Exile, Gardening and Pebbles
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“Blue is the color of longing for the distances you never arrive in… in this...”
– Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, 2005 (onlyondemairt)
January 2011
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“It’s not that you have to achieve anything, it’s that you have to get away from...”
– Marguerite Duras, The Lover
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“It doesn’t take much to show love, but at some time or another in your,...”
– Robert Walser, Selected Stories
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“I want to pray, but I can only think.”
– Robert Bresson, Une femme douce, 1969. (via itnumberpi)
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“As, in full view of the world, the crown of the tree unfolds and spreads in time...”
– Paul Klee
(via flyingfoxdesign)
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“I went to the Jardin du Luxembourg. The weather was magnificent. I found that I...”
– from the diary of an obscure 19th-century Parisian medical student, Victor Audouin, via Intimate diaries and banal letters live on in France’s library of secrets - Europe, World - The Independent (via ramage)
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The grief is a planet. A dust ring. A small moon that’s been hidden under my pillow, that’s been changing the way my body moves this whole time.
— Camille Rankine, The Increasing Frequency of Black Swans
(via youarebonbon, itnumberpi, disturbedsilence)
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“Ah; but my courage fails me, and my heart is sick within me!”
– Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature (A Rebours)
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“She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has...”
– T. S. Eliot, from “Rhapsody on a Widny Night”
(via aubade)
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“Ah; but my courage fails me, and my heart is sick within me!”
– Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature (A Rebours)
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“I am water coming down the mountain.”
– Edmond Jabès (translated by Rosmarie Waldrop), The Book of Questions: Volume I [The Book of Yukel, Return to the Book]
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Small Against the Black from "Eurydice," H.D.
At least I have the flowers of myself, and my thoughts, no god can take that; I have the fervour of myself for a presence and my own spirit for light; and my spirit with its loss knows this; though small against the black, small against the formless rocks, hell must break before I am lost; before I am lost, hell must open like a red rose for the dead to pass.
(via)
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