[antoniabishop]

a great blue heron at dawn and dusk

[knowbeyondknowing]

“Gods die with men who have conceived them. But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.”

— D. H. Lawrence, The Plumed Serpent (via baeronism)

[detailedart]

The dying gladiator (1779) - Pierre Julien °• L’amour and Psyche (1797) - Antonia Canova

[knowbeyondknowing]

“Rain. Rushing, inky water. And a smell. Sicksweat. Like old roses on a breeze.”

— Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things (via bookmania)

[anxeious]

[artesplorando]

Egid Quirin ASAM - Assumption of the Virgin 1717-25 Marble and stucco Pilgrimage-church, Rohr, Bavaria

[knowbeyondknowing]

“It is less true to say that he rejected the republic than to say that the republic rejected him. His enormous genius shattered itself upon the impossible task of making the republic fit to rule the empire, and he turned to despotism in contempt and perhaps in bitterness.”

— JOHN H. COLLINS ;  JULIUS CAESAR AND THE CORRUPTION OF POWER. (via atreides)

[happyheidi]

shades of green in Van Gogh’s paintings

(via)

[existential-celestial]

“Spring has come again. The earth is like a child who knows poems by heart;”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, “XXI,”  in Sonnets to Orpheus  (Part One)

[magneatio]

i don’t have routines so much as obligatory cycles that must be completed lest death or something far worse occurs.

[fravery]

Lake Superior, 2025

by Jef Bourgeau.

[knowbeyondknowing]

“I never find myself alone within the embracement of rocks & hills, a traveller up an alpine road, but my spirit courses, drives, and eddies, like a Leaf in Autumn: a wild activity, of thoughts, imaginations, feelings, and impulses of motion, rises up from within me.”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from a letter to Thomas Wedgwood, 1802, The Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Earl Leslie Griggs (6 vols, Oxford, 1956–71)

[songs-of-the-east]

Chechens perform Sufi Zikr

From the Series - Grozny: Nine Cities - Olga Kravets, Maria Morina, and Oksana Yushko

[knowbeyondknowing]

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied.” And I for truth – the two are one; We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a-night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.

Emily Dickinson

[zegalba]

Takato Yamamoto: Fall in Love (1997)

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“The anger was vast and it came out of nowhere. It was the rage of something not fitting; the frustration of trying to put something in a box that is slightly too small. You try moving the shape around in the hope that some angle will make it fit in the box. Slowly comes an apprehension that this might not, after all, be possible. And finally you know it won’t fit, know there is no way it can fit, but this doesn’t stop you using brute force to try to crush it in, punishing the bloody thing for not fitting properly. That was what it was like: but I was the box, I was the thing that didn’t fit, and I was the person smashing it, over and over again, with bruised and bleeding hands.”

H is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald

[gennsoup]

I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make-believe and your show.

Robert Service, The Heart of the Sourdough