«These are the late poems.
Most poems are late of course:
too late,
like a letter sent by a sailor
that arrived after he’s drowned.»
Most poems are late of course:
too late,
like a letter sent by a sailor
that arrived after he’s drowned.»
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What an age! Everyone is dying, everything is dying, and the earth is dying also, eaten up by the sun and the wind. I don't know where I get the courage to keep on living in the midst of these ruins. Let us love each other to the end.
-George Sand
Letter to Gustave Flaubert
27th June 1870
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> in a lot of ways, the very act of metamorphosis fuels each being.
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You fell, and your calm gaze faltered and failed,
As though I were something you'd forgotten, year after year.
When they took you, I was a grief-stricken cry,
A silent sea where your fabulous creatures appear.
I was a sadness cracked open, calm in the midst-
Of your file that was folded now, smudged and unclear.
And though they have hanged you, in memory's image,
I see myself there, in your arms, my dear.
As though I were something you'd forgotten, year after year.
When they took you, I was a grief-stricken cry,
A silent sea where your fabulous creatures appear.
I was a sadness cracked open, calm in the midst-
Of your file that was folded now, smudged and unclear.
And though they have hanged you, in memory's image,
I see myself there, in your arms, my dear.
-(Fatemeh Shams, Translated from the Persian by Dick Davis)
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I'm in the mood to dissolve into the sky.
-VIRGINIA WOOLF
Journals, 1915-1941
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“The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.”
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✨Tonight, stars shine a little brighter and dimples dig a little deeper, ‘cause summertimes & butterflies all belong to your creation.
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The Tea Party
The Double Life of Veronique (1991)
Here and around Madhatter's tea table,
here and all over Belle's library,
here and in the Parisian café Vincent painted,
here and where Birdy wrote Wings.
Somewhere between here and the stained coffee cups from No Control,
I exist.
Never belonging, ever-drifting~
here and all over Belle's library,
here and in the Parisian café Vincent painted,
here and where Birdy wrote Wings.
Somewhere between here and the stained coffee cups from No Control,
I exist.
Never belonging, ever-drifting~
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The Tea Party
نهایتاً بارون بهترین هدیه ایه که به زمین داده شده.
ببخشید میشه یکم زیرش و کم کنید؟ آب ما رو بُرد.
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celebrating your life and legacy, today and everyday.
fly high maman joon. 🖤🕊️
fly high maman joon. 🖤🕊️
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