terça-feira, 29 de setembro de 2009

A poem on the underground wall

segunda-feira, 28 de setembro de 2009

domingo, 27 de setembro de 2009

It must have meant something, though, that at this turn of my life I grabbed a book. Because it was in books that I would find, for the next few years, my lovers. They were men, not boys. They were self-possessed and sardonic, with a ferocious streak in them, reserves of gloom. Not Edgar Linton, not Ashley Wilkes. Not one of them companionable or kind.
It was not as if I had given up on passion. Passion, indeed, wholehearted, even destructive passion, was what I was after. Demand and submission. I did not exclude a certain kind of brutality. But no confusion, no double-dealing, or sleazy sort of surprise or humiliation. I could wait, and all my due world come to me, I thought, when I was full-blown.
Lying Under the Apple Tree, Alice Munro
I liked to do this because I was secretly devoted to Nature. The feeling came from books, at first. It came from the girls' stories by the writer L. M. Montgomery, who often inserted some sentences describing a snowy field in moonlight or a pine forest or a still pond mirrorring the evening sky. Then it had merged with another private passion I had, which was for lines of poetry. I went rampaging through my school texts to uncover them before they could be read and despised in class.
Lying Under the Apple Tree, Alice Munro

sexta-feira, 25 de setembro de 2009

I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world as me.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

quinta-feira, 24 de setembro de 2009

quarta-feira, 23 de setembro de 2009

The sun had not yet risen. The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, perpetually.
First paragraph of The Waves, Virginia Woolf

terça-feira, 22 de setembro de 2009

The vote, I thought, means nothing to women, we should be armed.
Girls in Their Married Bliss, Edna O'Brien

segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2009

I love your North Circular Road Bicycle Riding Cheeks.
The Lonely Girl, Edna O'Brien

Rosalind Krauss

domingo, 20 de setembro de 2009

sábado, 19 de setembro de 2009

Why has the rose faded and fallen
And these eyes have not seen...
The Veil, Walter de la Mare

quinta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2009

Jacques-Henri Lartigue, Lac D'Annecy, 1928

quarta-feira, 16 de setembro de 2009

Hello to you song

A quoi penses-tu
Je pense au premier baiser que je te donnerai.
N, Paul Éluard

segunda-feira, 14 de setembro de 2009

domingo, 13 de setembro de 2009

Está no rio
o embrião da noite

O rio livre
apenas com o princípio evidente
de todas as formas

A água íntima dos lábios

Grafia 2, Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão

sexta-feira, 11 de setembro de 2009

quarta-feira, 9 de setembro de 2009

Sometimes he just looks at her.

segunda-feira, 7 de setembro de 2009

sexta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2009

Edna O'Brien

quinta-feira, 3 de setembro de 2009

quarta-feira, 2 de setembro de 2009

Peter Paul Rubens, Portrait of Susanna Linden, Le Chapeau de Paille, 1622-5

Elizabeth Louise Vigée le Brun, Self-portrait in a Straw Hat, after 1782

terça-feira, 1 de setembro de 2009