don’t get sick don’t get sick don’t get sick

"I loved you; even now I must confess,
Some embers of my love their fire retain;
But do not let it cause you more distress,
I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and the timid know;
So tenderly I love you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so."
—Alexander Pushkin, “I Loved You” (via larmoyante)
"I’ve lived to bury my desires,
And see my dreams corrode with rust;
Now all that’s left are fruitless fires
That burn my empty heart to dust."
—Alexander Pushkin (via drunk-on-books)


Between memory and reality there are awkward discrepancies, producing a solemn but subtle agitation, an intense but as yet indefinable struggle.

Eileen Chang, from Written on Water (Columbia University Press, 2007)


artist: CARIBOU

song title: SECOND CHANCE


Caribou, “Back Home” from Our Love (Merge, 2014)

if you want to know a secret / what are you waiting for
i can only do so much to fix / all the things that went unspoken


Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. Comtesse d’Haussonville. 1845.
Oil on canvas.
The Frick Collection. New York, NY. USA.

Caspar David Friedrich, the Monk by the sea
This is a song about true love.


"Bad things happen to good people…but people get second chances. Seas change, and even Saturn goes around the Earth a few times in a person’s life…This is a song about true love."

I just might have had the time of my life tonight. Everything was mesmerizing - the drum beat to which my heart…

LOL oh man….

Nothing -- by James Fenton


I take a jewel from a junk shop tray
And wish I had a love to buy it for.
Nothing I choose will make you turn my way.
Nothing I give will make you love me more.

I know that I’ve embarrassed you too long
And I’m ashamed to linger at your door.
Whatever I embark on will be wrong.
Nothing I…

A poem by James Fenton with the backdrop and aroma of Paris, the ever so famous city of love. Wouldn’t it be such a wonderful thing to stay there with you?

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Funeral Blues, W.H. Auden (via aurelle)

(Source: aurelle, via aurelle)


in case you were having a bad day, here’s a picture of Yo-Yo Ma, the famous cellist, on the floor of a bathroom with a wombat