…we must have forgotten that those who are impressed by money are not worth impressing.
The dream was in fact a lot like the Vancouver weather—a dismal sort of longing, a rainy dreamy sadness, a weight that shifted around the heart.
What I’ll be reading in Westchester.
why is it always the woman who has to see past the beast in the man? why does she always have to clean his wounds, even after he has damaged her beyond repair? why is it always the man who is worthy of forgiveness for being a monster?
I want to see the beast in the beauty.
the half smile, half snarl. the unapologetic anger. I would like to see the man forgive the monster. to see her, blood and all, and love her anyway.
Very early in my life, it was too late.
When we are young, the words are scattered all around us. As they are assembled by experience, so also are we, sentence by sentence, until the story takes shape.
Deep in his soul, like rain upon a soil
Worn by the solstice fierce, and made it pure.
Interior with reading girl in lamplight, Even Ulving. Norwegian (1863 - 1952)
Libet - Libreria del Riacquisto, Milan
A library “repurchase”, full of books, in a very narrow street, a store that becomes showcase itself, thanks to the end of the paved road and painted in black, which is home to complementary functions, and which highlights the rear, clear , which displays books. The materials and furnishings “contemporary” by contrast exhibit “early.”
(via weepy hollow)