Une Saison en Enfer

My name is Anna. "I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."

[kvetchlandia]

[cantations-blog]

Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg, London, 1970. Photo by Ian Berry.

[larmoyante]

When he shall die Take him and cut him out in little stars And he will make the face of heav’n so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (via larmoyante)

[ablacklodge]

Just in case you wanted to know what women look like shotgunning beers.

[larmoyante]

Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us.

Charles Bukowski, Post Office (via tat-art)

[mooncrreature-deactivated201508]

[nyctaeus]

When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. He sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it. When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about design and balance and getting interesting planes into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest academical tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on. But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it. And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.

Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via easymomentsandobsession)

[gogiandbalagan]

[diamond-in-the-ash]

My brother once showed me a piece of quartz that contained, he said, some trapped water older than all the seas in our world. He held it up to my ear. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘life and no escape.’

—Anne Carson, from Plainwater: Essays and Poetry (Alfred A. Knopf, 1995)

[roseydoux]

Anna Karina’s sweater struggles in Band of Outsiders (1964)

[zardmaster-deactivated20170114]

(likes boys but isn’t happy about it)

[theme60s]

[meet-you-at-the-cemetry-gates]

France Gall (1963) - ell est si belle!!

[bookmania]

If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it walls, and we will furnish it with soft, red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweller’s felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does.

Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated (via bookmania)

[minimalzine]

Cutler and Gross Clear Optical Frames

[foie]

My ideal date would be me wearing a thick furry coat and black agent provocateur lingerie and snorting coke in an 18th century room alone.

[roseydoux]

Jean Seberg in Breathless (1960)

[farmerboyduchene-deactivated201]

do u ever do something mildly impolite like not give a nice goodbye or not hold a door and spend the rest of the day thinking about it

[simpatie-blog]