Red is the sun’s most beautiful throne
and all the other colors
worship on red rugs.

Ali Ahmad Said Esber, from “Celebrating Childhood”

Red is the sun’s most beautiful throne
and all the other colors
worship on red rugs.

Ali Ahmad Said Esber, from “Celebrating Childhood”

When I leave I usually go to the station on my way home and wait for the last train to come in from Paris. There is never anyone on it I know—how could there be? Often it is completely empty. But I walk about the town at night with a sort of numbness, looking keenly about me, as if for a friend.

Lawrence Durrell, as quoted in “The Prince Returns,” by J. D. Mersault. Always nice to see other Durrell fans, but especially one who can write so effectively about how wonderful he is!

Often when I imagine you,
your wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer,
and I am dark;
I am forest.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Rilke’s Book of Hours, I, 45.

(via mirroir)

(via mirroir)

Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.

Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, 1927

"Given the motionless and deathly silence that lay upon the canal now, it was difficult to imagine, said Ferber, as we gazed back at the city sinking into the twilight, that he himself, in the postwar years, had seen the most enormous freighters on this water. They would slip slowly by, and as they approached the port they passed amid houses, looming high above the black slate roofs. And in winter, said Ferber, if a ship suddenly appeared out of the mist when one least expected it, passed by soundlessly, and vanished once more in the white air, then for me, every time, it was an utterly incomprehensible spectacle which moved me deeply."

W. G. Sebald, The Emigrants, 1992