Pinned
Reblogged louisegluckpdf
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged, damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.
— May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude (W.W. Norton & Company, October 17, 1992) (via Make Believe Boutique)
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
“Perhaps the first step in renewing a relationship between language and world is the simplest: fix attention on an ordinary object, the most banal and familiar, and describe it minutely, as if it were the newest and most interesting thing in the universe.”
Italo Calvino, The Written World and the Unwritten World
Reblogged projectiondepartment
Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1968
Acrylic on paper mounted on hardboard
NGA
© Kate Rothko Prizel & Christopher Rothko / Artists Rights Society
Reblogged virgin-martyr
Charles Wright, from "A Journal of the Year of the Ox", The World of Ten Thousand Things: Poems 1980-1990 [ID'd]
Reblogged fossilizations
"There is an impulse in moments like this to appeal to self-interest. To say: These horrors you are allowing to happen, they will come to your doorstep one day; to repeat the famous phrase about who they came for first and who they'll come for next. But this appeal cannot, in matter of fact, work. If the people well served by a system that condones such butchery ever truly believed the same butchery could one day be inflicted on them, they'd tear the system down tomorrow. And anyway, by the time such a thing happens, the rest of us will already be dead.
"No, there is no terrible thing coming for you in some distant future, but know that a terrible thing is happening to you now. You are being asked to kill off a part of you that would otherwise scream in opposition to injustice. You are being asked to dismantle the machinery of a functioning conscience. Who cares if diplomatic expediency prefers you shrug away the sight of dismembered children? Who cares if great distance from the bloodstained middle allows obliviousness. Forget pity, forget even the dead if you must, but at least fight against the theft of your soul."
Reblogged arthuriannas
Interviewer: What difference in usage would you point out in these three languages [Russian, English, French], these three instruments?
Nabokov: Naunces. If you take framboise in French, for example, it's a scarlet color, a very red color. In English, the word raspberry is rather dull, with perhaps a little brown or violet. A rather cold color. In Russian it's a burst of light, malinovoe; the word has associations of brilliance, of gaiety, of ringing bells. How can you translate that?
- Vladimir Nabokov, Think, Write, Speak: Uncollected Essays, Reviews, Interviews and Letters to the Editor. Bryan Boyd and Anastasia Tolstoy, Eds.
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
memoryslandscape
“[W]e may, across the span of our lives, meet numerous people who pique our curiosity, there are usually only a few who raise our passion to a feverish pitch. Those who do are the ones who—often unintentionally and without being fully aware of their power—brush against the bedrock of our desire. They stir our desire on such a primary level that we sense that our destiny is inextricably intertwined with theirs. This is how we sometimes come to feel that certain people are ‘fated’ for us—that we do not have a choice but to respect the thrust of our desire even when this desire gets us in trouble.”
— Mari Ruti, from “The Intrigue of Obstacles,” from The Summons of Love (Columiba University Press, 2011)
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
“Visualize, emotionalize afterwards. Beginning writers work from the sense impressions, forget cold realistic organization. First get the cold objective plot scene set. Rigid. Then write the damn thing after lying on the couch and visualizing, whipping it to white heat, to life again, the life of the art, the form, not longer formless without frame of reference.”
— Sylvia Plath recorded this wonderful writing advice in her journal sometime during the summer of 1953.
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
Église de Santa María à Iguácel (Huesca).
Reblogged greenishness
Alécio de Andrade The Louvre and its visitors
Reblogged neoyorzapoteca
In all this world, no thing can keep its form. For all things flow; all things are born to change their shapes. And time itself is like a river, flowing on an endless course. Witness: no stream and no swift moment can relent; they must forever flow; just as wave follows wave, and every wave is pressed, and also presses on the wave ahead; so, too, must moments always be renewed. What was is now no more, and what was not has come to be; renewal is the lot of time.
— Ovid, (43 BC to 17 A.D), The Metamorphoses, Book XV (translated by Allen Mandelbaum). (Everyman's Library; September 10, 2013) (via Wait-What?)
Source: onceness