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Anselm Kiefer, “Sommer in Barjac — Die berühmten Orden der Nacht” 2010, gouache on photographic paper. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery, New York (via: NY Times)   Translation of text: “Summer in Barjac — the renowned orders of the night.”  

Rene Magritte, The Banquet, 1957

Some people,
no matter what you give them,
still want the moon.

The bread,
the salt,
white meat and dark,
still hungry.

The marriage bed
and the cradle,
still empty arms.

You give them land,
their own earth under their feet,
still they take to the roads.

And water: dig them the deepest well,
still it’s not deep enough
to drink the moon from.

Denise Levertov,
Adam’s Complaint (via hellanne)
I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.

Charles Simic, on first moving to New York (via theparisreview)

(via brownrosy)

She survived whatever happened;
she forgave; she became.

W.H. Auden, “The Model” (via

(via lifeinpoetry)


Daehyun Kim 
Be(a)cause of you, 2014
You’ve been away, your hair blond from sun—
not seeing you serves
the opposite effect,
distance gives over to intimacy.
The wake from a boat. The city anchored
across the river, a series of shadows.
I crumple the paper from an ice cream cone.
Your hand rests on the iron arm of the bench.
Is this what the end
affords—no further use for worry?
It’s getting dark earlier again;
there won’t be many more days as mild as this.
Let’s sit here a little while more.

David Semanki, from “East River.”

My dear,
In the midst of hate I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

Truly yours,
Albert Camus

Albert Camus (via

(Source: taking-back-taylor, via brownrosy)

There is a word from the time of the cathedrals: agape, an expression of intense spiritual affinity with the mystery that is ‘to be sharing with another life’. Agape is love, and it can mean ‘the love of another for the sake of God’. More broadly and essentially it is a humble impassioned embrace of something outside the self, in the name of that which we refer to as God, but which also includes the self and is God

Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams (London: Picador, 1986)