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But the moments where I can truly say ‘fuck it’ are magical because it is in those moments where I learn to be myself.
Rachel Anne Williams, from “Learning To Say ‘Fuck It’ To Passing” (via the-final-sentence)
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
“Coffee should not be drunk in a hurry. It is the sister of time, and should be sipped slowly, slowly. Coffee is the sound of taste, a sound for the aroma. It is a meditation and a plunge into memories and the soul.”
—Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
René Magritte, The Mystery of the Ordinary, 1926 - 1938
Source: the-night-picture-collector
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
Frida
,
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waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
From: Tristan Tzara, La rose et le chien: poème perpétuel, Illustrations by Pablo Picasso, PAB [Pierre André Benoit], Alès, 1958, BnF – Réserve des livres rares, Paris
Source: expositions.bnf.fr
metaphorformetaphor
She is taken by a wave of feeling, a sea-swell, that rises from under her breast and buoys her, floats her gently, as if she were a sea creature thrown back from the sand where it had beached itself—as if she had been returned from a realm of crushing gravity to her true medium, the suck and swell of saltwater, that weightless brilliance.
Michael Cunningham, from The Hours
thedudeleftthebuilding-deactiva
waltzingwithmidnight reblogged
The Conformist (1970) “Il conformista”
Robert Doisneau Decor III, 1963 Gelatin silver print, printed c. 1963.
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Alexander Rodchenko
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Eleanor Powell and Fred Astaire dancing to “Begin the Beguine” in Broadway Melody of 1940 (Norman Taurog, 1940)
“We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it.”
— Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle
misssarahelise
“Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, I have so much to tell! I got your letter, and the bird’s; The maples never knew That you were coming, — I declare, How red their faces grew! But, March, forgive me — And all those hills You left for me to hue; There was no purple suitable, You took it all with you.”
— Emily Dickinson, from Part Two: Nature (LXXXVII) in “The Collected Poems Of Emily Dickinson”
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violentwavesofemotion-deactivat
“I have never had such a feeling of complete understanding.”
— Martha Gellhorn, from a letter to Bertrand de Jouvenel c. May 1932