Beauty has no other origin than a wound, unique, different for each person, hidden or visible, that everyone keeps in himself, that he preserves and to which he withdraws when he wants to leave the world for a temporary but profound solitude. Genet, Fragments of the Artwork
away for August, will check in when possible. wishes for light summer days. xo
I moonbathed diligently, as others sunbathe. Denise Levertov
That orbèd maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cloud
on the way to somewhere Francesca Woodman, 1975
Clouds are thoughts without words. Mark Strand
There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, Tolkien
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone. Yeats, The Wanderings of Oisin
And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets (The Little Gidding)
