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23 y dos veces 16

Why have I forgotten so many things that must have been, one would have thought, more memorable than what I do remember? Why remember the hum of bees in the garden going down to the beach […] Virginia Woolf, A Sketch of the Past (via wavingtovirginia)

What is art? Like a declaration of love: the consciousness of our dependence on each other. A confession. An unconscious act that none the less reflects the true meaning of life—love and sacrifice. Andrei Tarkovsky, Sculpting in Time (via heartvoyage)

(via thenightlymirror)

Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?…If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can Andrew Lang, 1939 (via faithtrustanddragons)

1 week ago

Un grand sommeil noir (A deep black sleep), written for voice and piano by Edgar Varèse, poem by Paul Verlaine.

Un grand sommeil noir
Tombe sur ma vie:
Dormez, tout espoir,
Dormez, toute envie!

Je ne vois plus rien,
Je perds la mémoire
Du mal et du bien…
Ô la triste histoire!

Je suis un berceau
Qu’une main balance
Au creux d’un caveau:
Silence, silence!


A long black sleep
Descends upon my life:
Sleep, all hope,
Sleep, all desire!

I can no longer see anything,
I am losing my remembrance
Of the bad and the good…
Oh, the sad story!

I am a cradle
That is rocked by a hand
In the depth of a vault.
Silence, silence!


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