wanderlust and ink
Vincent van Gogh (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)
“Bookstores always remind me that there are good things in this world.”
Notes
bienenkiste:

Photographed by Eva Varveropoulou for Vogue.it

bienenkiste:

Photographed by Eva Varveropoulou for Vogue.it

Notes
JK Rowling, Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (via theflowershop)
“Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple…”
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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.”
Notes
Notes
Virginia Woolf in her diary on Monday 5th May 1924
“London is enchanting. I step out upon a tawny coloured magic carpet, it seems, & get carried into beauty without raising a finger.”
Notes

Reading Women (2012 - 2013), Carrie Schneider

  1. Rena reading Zadie Smith, Megha reading Edith Wharton.
  2. Flávia reading Clarice Lispector, Bianca reading Sylvia Plath.
  3. Evan reading Anne Lamott, Aura reading Maarit Verronen.
  4. Sara reading Miranda July, Sheree reading Angela Carter.
  5. Hsiao-Jou reading Fang-Yi Sheu, Heather reading Chris Kraus.
  6. Cauleen reading Gwendolyn Brooks, Molly reading Roseanne Barr.
  7. Sarah reading Zora Neale Hurston, Vicky reading Gloria Fuertes.
  8. Alyssa reading Patti Smith, Yala reading Susan Sontag.
  9. Whitney reading Terry Tempest Williams, Naomi reading Adrian Piper.
  10. Kelly reading Gabrielle Hamilton, Amy reading Michelle Cliff.
Notes
Notes
W. H. Auden  (via whitegirlblog)
“Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.”
Notes

borgiese:

Alicia Vikander by Benoit Peverelli for Numero China, September 2013 

Notes
“There’s been a sort of trend for awhile of people writing strong women as women who are morally right, which is so uninteresting. It’s no fun and frankly it’s a massive disservice to womankind. It boxes us in to making these sort of slightly dull, virtuous choices… We need to be villains too. We need to be messy and sloppy and three-dimensional and complicated, and that’s writing a strong woman.”
Notes
Margaret Atwood, “Mushrooms,” from Notes Towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written
“Here is the handful
of shadow I have brought back to you:
this decay, this hope, this mouthful
of dirt, this poetry.”
Notes
“Many people accept the idea that each of us has a certain resolute innerness—a kernel of selfhood that we can’t share with others. (Levin, at the end of “Anna Karenina,” calls it his “holy of holies,” and says that, no matter how close he grows to the people around him, there will always be “the same wall between my soul’s holy of holies and other people, even my wife.”) What interested Woolf was the way that we become aware of that innerness. We come to know it best, she thought, when we’re forced, at moments of exposure, to shield it against the outside world.

There can be something enjoyable, even revelatory about that feeling of self-protection, which is why we seek out circumstances in which we can feel more acutely the contrast between the outside world and our inner selves. Woolf was fascinated by city life—by the feeling of solitude-on-display that the sidewalk encourages, and by the way that “street haunting,” as she called it, allows you to lose and then find yourself in the rhythm of urban novelty and familiarity. She was drawn to the figure of the hostess: the woman-to-be-looked-at, standing at the top of the stairs, friendly to everyone, who grows only more mysterious with her visibility. (One of the pleasures of throwing a party, Woolf showed, is that it allows you to surprise yourself: surrounded by your friends, the center of attention, you feel your separateness from the social world you have convened.) She showed how parents, friends, lovers, and spouses can become more unknowable over time, not less—there is a core to their personhood that never gives itself up. Even as they put their lives on display, she thought, artists thrive when they maintain a final redoubt of privacy—a wellspring that remains unpolluted by the world outside. “A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter,” Clarissa thinks, at the end of “Mrs. Dalloway.” Of course, it’s the chatter—the party—that helps her know that she has something to lose in the first place.”
Notes
Notes

witchcloak:

in the flesh + art
           caspar david friedrich, wanderer above the sea of fog -  In the far distance, faded mountains rise in the left, gently leveling off into lowland plains in the east. Beyond here, the pervading fog stretches out indefinitely, eventually commingling with the horizon and becoming indistinguishable from the cloud-filled sky.

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S