I can't believe that I'm writing this down
I can't believe I've got you in a song
I don't want to be a whining girl I'd rather not be in your world

I don't want to see you, Camera Obscura

Poet among painters

Belong to those you love

Today I walked into the sunset – to mail some letters -... But some way or other I didn’t seem to like the redness much so after I mailed the letters I walked home – and kept walking - The Eastern sky was all grey blue – bunches of clouds – different kinds of clouds – sticking around everywhere and the whole thing – lit up – first in one place – then in another with flashes of lightning – sometimes just sheet lightning – and some times sheet lightning with a sharp bright zigzag flashing across it -. I walked out past the last house – past the last locust tree – and sat on the fence for a long time – looking – just looking at – the lightning – you see there was nothing but sky and flat prairie land – land that seems more like the ocean than anything else I know – There was a wonderful moon. Well I just sat there and had a great time by myself – Not even many night noises – just the wind -... I wondered what you were doing - It is absurd the way I love this country – Then when I came back – it was funny – roads just shoot across blocks anywhere – all the houses looked alike – and I almost got lost – I had to laugh at myself – I couldn’t tell which house was home - I am loving the plains more than ever it seems – and the SKY – Anita you have never seen the SKY – it is wonderful –

Georgia O'Keeffe, Canyon, Texas, letter to Anita Pollitzer, September 11, 1916

Os figos húmidos colhiam-se
depois da benção do sol.

Luz e Sombra, Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão

Pretty as can be

She could not pray under the rush of solemn emotion in which thoughts became vague and images floated uncertainly, she could but cast herself, with a childlike sense of reclining in the lap of a divine consciousness which sustained her own.

Middlemarch, George Eliot

Silly girl, silver girl

But there was nothing of an ascetic's expression in her bright full eyes, as she looked before her, not consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of her mood, the solemn glory of the afternoon with its long swathes of light betweeen the far-off rows of limes, whose shadows touched each other.

All people, young or old (that is, all people in those ante-reform times), would have thought her an interesting object if they had referred the glow in her eyes and cheeks to the newly-awakened ordinary images of young love.

Middlemarch, George Eliot

Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.
"Courage!" cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. "Courage and love."

A Room With a View, E. M. Forster

The angry poet

Do not fear the poet in his noble anger; his letter kills, but his spirit gives life to spirits.

The Angry Poet, Hölderlin

Procurei-me na luz, no mar, no vento.

Biografia, Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen

No one belongs here more than you

Ce tableau est le Saint-Pierre de mon ciel

Maria Helena Vieira da Silva

A eterna noiva de Eduardo Viana

Helena et Arpad

A eterna noiva de Eduardo Viana

Just try now, just try saying to such a girl, "you are eating yourself up", and you will hear her reply "Oh no, the pain is just that I can't." The torment of despair is precisely the imobility to die.

Søren Kierkegaard + Inês

Helena et Arpad

Tell me more and more and then some

Quando eu morrer voltarei para buscar

Os instantes que não vivi junto do mar.

Inscrição, Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen

Pretty as can be

just like melanie

If I were tickled by the rub of love

And then leaning on your window sill
he'll say one day you caused his will
to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter

The Stranger Song, Leonard Cohen

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon

There is nothing left of the sea but its sound

Ballad of the Long-legged Bait, Dylan Thomas

Termina o dia. O melro, a mulher e as sombras repartem
entre si o que resta. Ela dança, a preparar a mesa,
como em redor de Vesta. O melro, a olhar o sol vago,
escolhe a folhagem densa para cumprir o destino.
Ociosas, as sombras perseguem gestos e as formas.

Memorando de umas sombras, Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão

If I were tickled by the rub of love