oh no, not a selfie!
A poem has secrets that the poet knows nothing of.
…a library whose shelf arrangement and physical environment encourage browsing is one of the simple pleasures of civilization.
—Jennifer Rowley & Richard Hartley, Organizing Knowledge: an Introduction to Managing Access to Information
Jeanne spoke her mother’s name for the first time, and wept with the father as they both worshipped life.
—Marguerite Duras, Sunmer Rain
Paris, inondation, Ile St. Louis, 1933-1939
Fell victim to megalomania today
If I was bound for hell let it be hell. No more false heavens. No more damned magic. You hate me and I hate you. We’ll see who hates best.
—The Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys (via thatkindofwoman)
This one came together quickly. It’s made entirely of scraps torn from my last piece.
Cool vintage book cover, The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf
Erased de Kooning Drawing, 1953, Robert Rauschenberg
Playing String Games series, March 2010, Antwerp (via)
8578/10 (by les brumes)
I don’t know why but these candies remind me of my grandparents’ house, there is just something so grandfatherly to the powdered sugar coating them, and today I found them again.
For months—more, for years, she’d waited to meet that man on the train again. She still thought of the waiting as part of the happiness she’d had with him. That night stood out in her life as dazzling, peerless. Their love had been so great the mother still trembled at it that night in Vitry.
—Marguerite Duras, Summer Rain