It’s a very cautious, dull, yet curious thing… As far as I think!
Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off...– ‘Words’ by Sylvia Plath
” If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! It had a dying fall: O! it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, ...
“Everything wearies me, including what doesn’t weary me. My happiness is as painful as my pain. If only I could be a child sailing paper boats in a cistern on the farm, with a rustic canopy of criss-crossing trellis vines projecting chequers of sunlight and green shade on the shiny dark surface of the shallow water. There’s a thin sheet of glass between me and life. However...
Be a pal and ADD! If not ignoring entirely, of course…
The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer...– The Opening Lines of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture Of Dorian Gray (1891)
My mind is, to use a disgustingly obvious smile, like a wastebasket full of...– Sylvia Plath (via instrumentalscenery)
Waving on daily basis
Somehow I grew unsure - yet, Never the World of Panicky applauds! Then again…. I doubt we have been permitted to Exist After all.