"there’s light even in the darkest places", by wordboner

"there’s light even in the darkest places", by wordboner

Then I give you nothing. I keep the millions of me that make me, me. I keep my moments without thought of you because to think of you makes you strong (and I will make you weak). I keep and declare my right to give you nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

"a shot in the dark", by wendy liu

dawnawakened:

Lowell Birge Harrison, Fifth Avenue at Twilight (c. 1910)
"Lowell Birge Harrison merged his Beaux-Arts academic training with American Transcendentalist sensibilities. He combined a technical finesse with a subjective feeling for the spiritual essence of landscape that made his art and teaching (his textbook on landscape painting was a bestseller in its day) central to the Tonalist movement. Harrison championed what he called “the big vision—the power to see and to render the whole of a given scene or picture motive, rather than to paint a still-life picture of its component parts; the power to give the essential and to suppress the inessential, the power to paint the atmosphere which surrounds the objects rather than the objects themselves….” Like James Abbott McNeill Whistler and George Inness, Harrison sought to express the power of place to move the observer." - Artsy

dawnawakened:

Lowell Birge Harrison, Fifth Avenue at Twilight (c. 1910)

"Lowell Birge Harrison merged his Beaux-Arts academic training with American Transcendentalist sensibilities. He combined a technical finesse with a subjective feeling for the spiritual essence of landscape that made his art and teaching (his textbook on landscape painting was a bestseller in its day) central to the Tonalist movement. Harrison championed what he called “the big vision—the power to see and to render the whole of a given scene or picture motive, rather than to paint a still-life picture of its component parts; the power to give the essential and to suppress the inessential, the power to paint the atmosphere which surrounds the objects rather than the objects themselves….” Like James Abbott McNeill Whistler and George Inness, Harrison sought to express the power of place to move the observer." - Artsy

(via smutmouth)

But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong, nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.

Ernest Hemingway
vermillons:

Marie Egner, In the Blossoming Bower (detail), 1896.

vermillons:

Marie Egner, In the Blossoming Bower (detail), 1896.

(via absentiae)

"Untitled" (America #1), by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Installation of lightbulbs, porcelain light sockets, and extension cord. On display until October 27, 2013 as part of SFMOMA’s On the Go "Beyond Belief" exhibit at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco.

"Untitled" (America #1), by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Installation of lightbulbs, porcelain light sockets, and extension cord. On display until October 27, 2013 as part of SFMOMA’s On the Go "Beyond Belief" exhibit at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco.

He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others – the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid-afternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.

Jonathan Safran Foer