coraggio @sloed - Tumblr Blog

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It was queer, reading some of your letters, in the light of having been with you so much lately. A fitful illumination played over them, a sort of cross-light, projected half from the rather tentative illumination of the past and half from the fuller illumination of the present. I couldn’t stop to wonder which illumination I preferred, because I saw at once that in their union they created a very lovely limpid light in which I was bathed and in which I felt extremely happy.

Vita Sackville-West, in a letter to Virginia Woolf, 5 October 1928 (via proselesbian)

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Virginia Woolf, The Years

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Kiko Mizuhara for Indie Magazine photographed by Hedvig Jenning

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“We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The princess is caged in the consulate. The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea. The naked woman on the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be “interesting” to know which. We tell ourselves that it makes some difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is about to register a political protest or is about to be, the Aristophanic view, snatched back to the human condition by the fireman in priest’s clothing just visible in the window behind her, the one smiling at the telephoto lens. We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.”

— Joan Didion, “The White Album” (via girlwithouthands)

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