afterthought.

You can never have too much sky.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written c. May 1928 featured in “Selected Diaries of V. W,”

[arterialtrees]

bronte, wuthering heights

[lifeinpoetry]

“& it’s up to you to fill it, up to you to find something useful / to do with your sadness.”

— Hieu Minh Nguyen, from “Outbound,” published in Poetry

[the-final-sentence]

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.

Pablo Neruda, from “Your Feet” (via the-final-sentence)

[apothecium]

Today’s accomplishments:

Turned an old book into a plant pot (shall I make a DIY tutorial?)

Have yet to kill said plant

Drank my own body weight’s worth of coffee

[uponthepages]

06.15.18

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

The heart is also the cemetery.

Paula Bohince, from Swallows & Waves: Poems; “Spider Web,”  (via down-the-rabbith0le)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Heart, you drown in all the things you want like a sea between two seas. I drown in all the things I want, yet it isn’t possible to drown myself.

Miguel Hernández, tr. by Robert Bly, from “The Sun, The Rose & the Child,” (via glitterforests)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Nostalgia? No, something else, sometimes an inexplicable sadness.”

— Ingeborg Bachmann, from Three Paths to the Lake; “Word for Word,”

[starrover]

“We dream – it is good we are dreaming – / It would hurt us – were we awake –”

— Emily Dickinson, from Final Harvest: Poems (via luthienne)

[isnt-alice-dead]

Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.

George Eliot, Middlemarch (via sulkybbarnes)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

At night I have wings.

Franz Richter, tr. by Beth Bjorklung, from “Night Flight,” c. June 1963 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[anditslove]

“You have belonged better in your own arms than in anyone else’s.Remember you are the softest love you will ever have.”

— Nikita Gill, Wild Embers

[triflingthing]

Top books of 2017 

[books0977]

Interior, Woman Reading. Albert André (French, 1889-1954). Oil on cardboard.

André admired Degas and his compositions which totally changed tradition, and he too adopted a high perspective. Then, after having practised a decorative type of painting, he turned to indoor scenes where he depicted the charm of everyday middle-class objects, and the protagonists, with simplified outlines, read, day-dream, chat or drowse.

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

A light song comes from the leaves. A slow sigh says yes. And light sighs; A low voice, summer-sad.

Theodore Roethke, from section 5 of “Unfold! Unfold!” Words of the Wind: The Collected Verse of Theodore Roethke (Indiana University Press, 1964)

[indigodreams]

Adele Moreau who makes these gorgeous sculptures out of vintage encyclopedias, science manuals & natural history books! Check out her Instagram: adelemoreau_art/