the wind 3h40

by alexandra duguay

scent

scents and smells sometimes brush past us like a curtain, wafting in the breeze, affording us precious glimpses of times past. which of us has not experienced it? the whiff of lavender-scented soap that reminds us of our first love; the fragrance of dried pine needles that takes us back to a walk through the forest one summer long ago; the smell of baking that enables us to relive the impatience we felt as children, waiting eagerly for the oven door to open. everything, it seems, is immersed in an exquisite, yet invisible fog-a fog that is both a mood and a feeling, both objective and subjective at the same time. the present is imbued with the past, and it is this that turns a much-loved smell into a time machine. which of us has not experienced it-the overwhelming smell of the past?__these proustian moments are possible only because our sense of smell is one of the oldest senses there is...

"dufttunnel"
-olafur eliasson

christina's world

i love people, everybody. i love them, i think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. my love's not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. i would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. but i am not omniscient. i have to live my life, and it is the only one i'll ever have. and you can not regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time...

-plath

the mystry and melancholy of a street

"...de chirico's dreamlike, mysterious and often ghostly paintings, which frequently depicted solitary figures, uninhabited cities and out-of-place objects, combined with classical statues, were heavily influenced by the symbolist work of arnold bocklin (the island of the dead)... "

island of the dead

http://www.johncoulthart.com/feuilleton/2006/02/22/arnold-bocklin-and-the-isle-of-the-dead/

wonderer

"have stuffed myself with mozart and beethoven-i feel like a ripe apricot-i'm dizzy with the exotic."

the lovers

...i helped her onto a float and as i did, i brushed against her breasts. i was still in the water when she was already lying flat on her stomach on the float. she turned toward me. her hair was in her eyes and she was laughing. i hoisted myself up next to her. it was nice, and, sort of joking around, i let my head fall back and rest on her stomach. she didn't say anything so i left it there. i had the whole sky in my eyes and it was blue and gold. on the back of my neck i could feel marie's heart beating softly. we lay on the float for a long time, half asleep. when the sun got too hot, she dove off and i followed. i caught up with her, put my arm around her waist, and we swam together....

albert cumus "the stranger"

a little bird named alex

tonight i am content

july 1950- i may never be happy, but tonight i am content. nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. now i know how people can live without books, without college. when one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. at times like this i'd call myself a fool to ask for more.

sylvia plath

sign of hope

if you expect a reward for your love, it is not true love. the essential quality of love is to blessings to all who are around you without asking for something in return.

people live by not what they think of life but only through love.

you want goodness, and you will receive it when you desire goodness for all.

there is a lot of goodness in this world, but there is only one true good: loving other people.

love that is given for a reason is not pure love, only unlimited, unconditional love is eternal. such love does not disappear but grows continuously with time.

tolstoy