♥ I really love these lines, from Rainer Maria Rilke‘s
“[You who never arrived]“:
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house—, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,—
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…
This line is especially lovely:
♥ I am enamored with this photo of Serge and Anna (can’t recall where I found it), and I recently discovered this video of them singing “Ne Dis Rien” (“Don’t Say Anything”.) I believe that it’s a rehearsal of sorts for the 1967 French television program Anna (the photo seems to have been taken during the same rehearsal.) They’re amazingly beautiful here, and interact in such an intensely sensual and lovely way:
So incredibly beautiful. I think they were probably a part of a fashion article in the magazine, but I’m not sure. Dreamy.
Also from the archive, here’s a lovely 1981 photo of Paul Simon and Carrie Fisher. It’s so sweet. They were a ridiculously cute couple:
♥ I have a bad habit of re-reading beloved books. This is a bad habit because I have SO many unread books sitting around here, books that I’m excited to read, books waiting to be read. One book that I return to again and again is The Great Gatsby, because I find it to be beautiful, smart, inspiring, and because I enjoy the manner in which the text/subtext/context interact in the story (however, being that I wrote at least four papers on it during college and graduate school, you couldn’t pay me enough money to write another!).
I know that it’s a bit cliche, but these are my favorite lines, and are some of the most gorgeous phrases ever written:
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning —
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
It makes me gasp every time I read it. Every time.
Also, the 1974 film adaptation is beautiful and very well-done. In general, I’m rather wary of film adaptations of books I love, but this one, overall, got it right.
(Image taken from Livejournal’s Film Stills community)
Relatedly, Hemingway’s stunningly beautiful description of Fitzgerald, from A Moveable Feast (also one of my favorite books and one that I re-read at least once a year) are some of the most moving lines in all of literature:
His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.
I think that can also be extrapolated to describe what many of us feel (I know that I do) when we are doing something we enjoy, are immersed in something we feel passionately about, but then suddenly realize that our ideas/work/creations aren’t perfect, aren’t going to be perfect, and thus we perhaps shouldn’t even bother trying. It’s the curse of we perfectionists and it’s something that I work hard to overcome.
Thanks so much for reading! I’m currently working on a few other posts, and they should be up soon. ♥