[niimph]

mystically delicate...

Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

[unaliveish]

laura hettich

[evoketheforms]

“What if it’s the there and not the here that I long for? The wander and not the wait, the magic in the lost feet stumbling down the faraway street and the way the moon never hangs quite the same.”

— Tyler Knott Gregson | Chasers of the Light: Poems from the Typewriter Series | Perigee (Penguin), 2014

[dumbbitchhour]

Nicolas Poussin, A Path Leading into a Forest Clearing, c. 1635-1640 x

[ha99s]

«أتيتُكم ومتاعي فيضُ عاطفةٍ»

[funeral]

La Jetée (1962) dir. Chris Marker

[di-kot-o-me]

The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face ceaselessly. -Charles Reznikoff

[pg-mag]

[balthazarshighway]

N: Listen to me. Like you, I know what it is to forget. H: No, you don't know what it is to forget. N: Like you, I am endowed with memory. I know what it is to forget. H: No, you aren't endowed with memory. N: Like you, I too have struggled with all my might not to forget. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I longed for a memory beyond consolation, a memory of shadow a stone. For my part, I struggled every day with all my might, against the horror of no longer understanding the reason to remember. Like you, I forgot.

[ofallingstar]

Hiroshima mon amour (1959)

[arpeggia]

“(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)”

— e. e. cummings

[deathandmysticism]

Astronomy for amateurs, 1904

[liebesfraulein]

And softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

— William Butler Yeats, The Wanderings of Oisin

[canadiandogt33th]

sifjar_ ~ a feeling

[literary-texts]

“خذني، ليرتاح النداء من الصدى”

— محمد التركي

[phantomladyoverparis]

 In Between (1978), dir. Jonas Mekas

[fuckyeahvirginiawoolf-blog]

“Did you think I was ever so blind as to say that you, of all people, had conquered egotism? It is only that you ride it so magnificently that one doesn’t care if it’s egotism or altruism - it’s your uncautiousness I envy; not your selflessness.”

— Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters