humanitas.

"To the conquered, hate or compassion; to the victor, the potatoes"

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Les Joueurs de Luth (1834), Guillaume Bodinier

a la via!

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After the Prom (1957), Norman Rockwell

Idk, I’m stepping out of my comfort zone.

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Saudade (1899), Almeida Júnior

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Lyrics:

So far away from me, so far removed, Where will it wander, where will your thought go? I long to know now if you've quite forgotten, Forgotten the vow you made me long ago. Who knows? If you are constant still and true, If still your thought is mine, as once before — My soul, consumed by longing through and through, By longing — bitter torment to the core. Living apart from you, oh God, Oh God, what bitter tears I weep. Sighs, anguishes, and sorrows deep Are the voices, are the voices, Are the voices of my song. Who knows, my innocent dove, If your own tears are falling too? My soul, so full of love, I gave to you in this: my song.

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The Shell (1884), Arthur Hill

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Lyrics:

A lovely shell came floating past, Adrift, alone in the sea, Beside a rock where, sad and downcast, A young maid sat in reverie. It asked: "O lovely maiden, pray, What occupies your mind?" "And you," she asked, "upon your way, What is it you must find?" The shell replied: "By ocean made And formed within those seas, I'm by these selfsame waves swayed, Without knowing where I shall cease!" The maiden answered, full of grief, Drowning in sorrow thoughts: "Through life I drift and find no relief, As through the sea you're brought! From wave to wave you go your way, From thought to thought go I; You rove, indolent, all the day, And I sing as I sigh. You follow fortune's wayward breath, While God alone calls me on high: You seek for life — I seek my death; You seek the earth — I seek the sky!"

[monet-poetry]

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I read it just this morning, its so beautiful that I had to devote at least one étude to it.

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Engraving for M. Servantes' novel Don Quixote (1863), Gustave Doré

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The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (1601), Caravaggio

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The Sirens (1892), John Longstaff / The Siren (c. 1900), John Waterhouse

One more for the series.

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Angel of Death (1890), Evelyn de Morgan

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Aeolus (early XVII century), attributed to Peter Rubens

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a little leisure time at the end of the year, it's good to practise idleness

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In Poesia Completa, epigraph from Adormecida

“Her long, flowing hair covers her entirely The cross on her necklace rests in her hand, As if to show that she has said her prayers. And that she will say them again when wake up tomorrow.”

Alfred de Musset

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lost between the odyssey

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Die Schachspieler (1831), Moritz Retzsch

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glad to be on my own

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on today's outing I came into contact with the production material from the rca victor at casa edison rio de janeiro! (original song btw)

Lyrics:

If only I were that necklace of thine Would guard thy form, this fate'd be mine Come nightfall thou wouldst set me free, From this sad torment, two joys to see: The clasp would snap at thy graceful nape On the oaken bench wouldst thou me drape, Before the old piano, I would bring Heaven's poetry, like stars that sing Thou wouldst sleep, wrapped in sandalwood's Pure perfumed vow, and if I could With such verses a dream I might compose Yet, being mute, for thee, I were doze And thou wouldst wake amidst thy sleep Sometimes disturbing thy poise so deep That when longing haunts thy sweet dreams Thou wouldst weep before thy schemes And thou might run to fetch the chain Perhaps to hold it just once again Wouldst press me tightly to thy breast And we'd share one bed for our rest.

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"So writing is the way of those who use words as bait: the word catching what is not a word. When that non-word takes the bait, something has been written. Once you've fished between the lines, it could be easy to throw the word away. But then the analogy stops: the non-word, by taking the bait, has incorporated it. What saves you is reading ‘absent-mindedly’."

Clarice Listpector

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Christ and Saint Thomas by Verrocchio, Orsanmichele, Florence

made in the time of a tea

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