Pretty pictures. Pretty words.

 

What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee?

Anthony Trollope, The Warden (via larmoyante)

Infinite Jest, Page 199: “That Door”

erasinginfinite:

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"That Door," erasure poetry from page 199 of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest


Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,  Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

— John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

— John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”


Defenseless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages: May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame.

— W.H. Auden, “September 1, 1939”

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

— W.H. Auden, “September 1, 1939”

So much that is mysterious and important is happening out there this morning.

Raymond Carver, from “Mesopotamia” (via the-final-sentence)

Sonnet To My Mother

Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,—
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all her faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning. 

— George Barker