National Library, Paris, France
photo via caroline
To imagine — to dream about things that have not happened — is among mankind’s deepest needs.
“L’acqua che tocchi de’ fiumi è l’ultima di quella che andò, e la prima di quella che viene. Così il tempo presente.”
~ Leonardo da Vinci
“The water that you touch in rivers is the last of what has passed, and the first of what is to come. Thus the present time.”
Tell me why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for example, or a fine evening or conversation with people we like, why does it all seem to be a hint of some limitless happiness existing somewhere else rather than a real happiness, the kind, that is, we possess ourselves. Why is this?
Part One - Natalie (by Kim Yokota)
Five Writers and their Phobias
- James Joyce was afraid of thunder, dogs and firearms.
- Sigmund Freud suffered from agoraphobia and siderodromophobia, the fear of trains.
- Charles Dickens had a lifelong fear of bats.
- Thomas Peacock had a fear of fires.
- Fyodor Dostoevsky had a terror of being buried alive.
Ask her what she craved, and she’d get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom.
(Source: Flickr / kohl_photographer)
I think people are often quite unaware of their inner selves, their other selves, their imaginative selves, the selves that aren’t on show in the world. It’s something you grow out of from childhood onwards, losing possession of yourself, really. I think literature is one of the best ways back into that. You are hypnotized as soon as you get into a book that particularly works for you, whether it’s fiction or a poem. You find that your defenses drop, and as soon as that happens, an imaginative reality can take over because you are no longer censoring your own perceptions, your own awareness of the world.
one…can be (by Kim Yokota)