woodendreams:

(by David Chauvin)
lensblr-network:

by Moon Hussain  (fakeyouth.tumblr.com)
arnequinze:

Arne Quinze - Bidonville view detail

arnequinze:

Arne Quinze - Bidonville view detail

(via tumblr-radar)

theparisreview:

“Well, I was not a writer to begin with; I was a listener.” —Erskine Caldwell 

theparisreview:

Well, I was not a writer to begin with; I was a listener.” —Erskine Caldwell 

explore-blog:

James Baldwin adds to history’s most beautiful definitions of love with a conception of “love” beyond the boundaries of the personal, something neurobiology has seconded.

explore-blog:

James Baldwin adds to history’s most beautiful definitions of love with a conception of “love” beyond the boundaries of the personal, something neurobiology has seconded.

(Source: explore-blog, via kathleenjoy)

"The love of books. My library is an archive of longings."

— Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh (via sketchofthepast)

(via awritersruminations)

theparisreview:

You talk about the Soo Locksand how you love to watch the watergo up and down, and the boatsand I laugh,“The water goes up and down, big deal,”and grab the lunch you made meand run out the doorand drive to the jobto stack steeland I watch the press go up and downand the more it goes up and downthe more steel I have to stack.I understand this up and down of the factory—it is simple and American—machines and steel—and I eat the lunch you made meand close my eyesand try to picturethe water going up and down—Jim Daniels, “Going Up and Down”Art Credit Willem de Kooning

theparisreview:

You talk about the Soo Locks
and how you love to watch the water
go up and down, and the boats
and I laugh,
“The water goes up and down, big deal,”
and grab the lunch you made me
and run out the door
and drive to the job
to stack steel
and I watch the press go up and down
and the more it goes up and down
the more steel I have to stack.
I understand this up and down of the factory—
it is simple and American—machines and steel—
and I eat the lunch you made me
and close my eyes
and try to picture
the water going up and down

Jim Daniels, “Going Up and Down”
Art Credit Willem de Kooning

wwnorton:

thenoiseinme:

Patricia Highsmith by Dmitri Kasterine

“Her hands are enormous: square, powerful, and as large as her head. They are gnarled and nicked from her woodworking and her gardening. ‘Worker’s hands,’ says one friend. ‘Butcher’s hands, strangler’s hands,’ ventures a neighbor. Her thumbs are extraordinary: huge curved digits, bent out naturally at what appear to be unnatural angles to the rest of her fingers.” —Joan Schenkar, from The Talented Miss Highsmith: The Secret Life and Serious Art of Patricia Highsmith. 
Learn more about Patricia Highsmith.

wwnorton:

thenoiseinme:

Patricia Highsmith by Dmitri Kasterine

“Her hands are enormous: square, powerful, and as large as her head. They are gnarled and nicked from her woodworking and her gardening. ‘Worker’s hands,’ says one friend. ‘Butcher’s hands, strangler’s hands,’ ventures a neighbor. Her thumbs are extraordinary: huge curved digits, bent out naturally at what appear to be unnatural angles to the rest of her fingers.” —Joan Schenkar, from The Talented Miss Highsmith: The Secret Life and Serious Art of Patricia Highsmith

Learn more about Patricia Highsmith.

lensblr-network:

colored with dust
by Shashank Shrestha  (shashankji.tumblr.com)
"Writing: a way of leaving no space for death, of pushing back forgetfulness, of never letting oneself be surprised by the abyss. Of never becoming resigned, consoled; never turning over in bed to face the wall and drift asleep again as if nothing had happened; as if nothing could happen."

— Hélène Cixous, “Coming to Writing and other Essays” (via awritersruminations)

"In the months that follow you bend to the work, because it feels like hope, like grace - and because you know in your lying cheater’s heart that sometimes a start is all we ever get."

— Junot Diaz, from This Is How You Lose Her (via the-final-sentence)

glasshalfdelicious:

Dog In The Shadows, 2013.
Couldn’t resist tossing in a black and white crop of Who Let The Dog(woods) Out? because I loved it equally with and without colour.

glasshalfdelicious:

Dog In The Shadows, 2013.

Couldn’t resist tossing in a black and white crop of Who Let The Dog(woods) Out? because I loved it equally with and without colour.

"Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love."

— W. H. Auden, from “Lullaby” (via the-final-sentence)

elliottholt:

This is the poem (by e.e. cummings) that I read at my mother’s memorial service 8 years ago.