[exhaled-spirals]

— Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Poems

[funeral]

William Wordsworth, "The Prelude"

[myimaginarybrooklyn]

Denizler Kitabevi Bookshop in Istanbul, specializing in antique maps and maritime books.

[shisasan]

𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟼, 𝟷𝟿𝟹𝟶 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚒̈𝚜 𝙽𝚒𝚗, 𝟷𝟿𝟶𝟹-𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟽

[henk-heijmans]

Two cats on a window sill, 2020 - photographer unknown

[mybeingthere]

Salerno, Italy Chiesa della Sacra Famiglia (Sacred Family Church), by Paolo Portoghesi and Vittorio Gigliotti (1971-1974). Salerno, Italy.

[weltenwellen]

Jennifer Chang, from "Dialogues (Against Literature)"

[wovi]

* jeanette winterson, oranges are not the only fruit

[bellafleurz]

[sweatermuppet]

this is going to be difficult -> i am capable of doing difficult things -> i have done everything prior to this moment -> this difficulty will soon be proof of capability

[chanelbagsandcigarettedrags]

Tripoli, Lebanon

[shisasan]

June 10, 1931 Journals of Anais Nin 1927-1931  [volume 4]

[hazumira]

Summer Flowers (1880) | Henri Fantin-Latour

[llovelymoonn]

derek walcott the antilles: fragments of epic memory

kofi

[existential-celestial]

“…however meaningless and vain, however dead life appears, the man of faith, of energy, of warmth…He steps in and does something, and hangs on to that…”

— Vincent Van Gogh (b. 30 Mar 1853) in his letter to his brother Theo dated 2 October 1884, Ever Yours: The Essential Letters

[existential-celestial]

“Do let us go on quietly, examining all things and holding fast to that which is good,”

— Vincent Van Gogh in his letter to his brother Theo dated 3 April 1878, Amsterdam, featured in Ever Yours: The Essential Letters

[existential-celestial]

“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, from “If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit”