We stand in a row, watching the fish @watchingthefish - Tumblr Blog

roses--and--rue

watchingthefish

19th French religious ex voto flaming sacred heart box reliquary.

proustitute

there, as here, ruin opens the tomb, the temple; enter, there as here, there are no doors…

H. D., from The Walls Do Not Fall in Trilogy (via proustitute)

celluloidfire

1900.

La Ronde, Max Ophuls, 1950.

lauramcphee

Djuna Barnes, passport photo, March 1929

boosthouse

theparisreview

“It is not the object described that matters, but the light that falls on it, like that from a lamp in a distant room.”

Boris Pasternak (via theparisreview)

#lit #boris pasternak #object

myarmisnotalilactree

proustration

Wilsford Manor, Stephen Tennant’s house, photographed by Cecil Beaton, 1938

theparisreview

“A place where you hide from the wolves. That’s all any room is.” —Jean Rhys, from The Art of Fiction No. 64.

#jean rhys #home

amare-habeo

Marc Chagall (1887–1985)

The Mirror (Le miroir), 1915

Oil on Canvas

The State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg.

regardintemporel

J’ai tant rêvé, j’ai tant rêvé que je ne suis plus d’ici.

Léon-Paul Fargue (via regardintemporel)

wordswithinyou

There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.

Beryl Markham (via interneiti)