braosewedda via fashionising
“She smiled. She looked like a blossoming almond tree in yellow flames.”
— George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley, from “Spring A.D.,”
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I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat.
Oscar Wilde (via quotemadness)
What was a god? A focus of belief. If people believed, a god began to grow. Feebly at first, but if the swamp taught anything, it taught patience. Anything could be the focus of a god. A handful of feathers with a red ribbon around them, a hat and coat on a couple of sticks…anything. Because when all people had was practically nothing, then anything could be almost everything.
Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad (HarperTorch, 2002)
So maybe this time, love doesn’t kick down the door—
doesn’t rattle the windows or plant weeds in the flower garden.
Maybe you can’t smell the smoke because,
for once,
nothing is burning.
Maybe this love is all the things
those loves wanted to be when they grew up.
Maybe you spent all that time running
so that you’d know how to hang up your coat
when you were ready.
Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
I may sound old-fashioned, but I want to think all women should be treated like I want my wife, daughters, and granddaughters to be treated. I notice today that good manners—like standing up when a woman enters the room, helping a woman with her coat, letting her enter an elevator first, taking her arm to cross the street—are sometimes considered unnecessary or a throwback. These are habits I could never break, nor would I want to. I realize today a lot more women are taking care of themselves than in the past, but no woman is offended by politeness.
Frank Sinatra (via wnq-music)
At night I pick apart almost(s), a mouth is fed.
October carved out of my trembling hip.
I want to dismantle myself.
Start over. Find true ground
peeling yellow in the field.
Ana Carrizo, “In the Month of October” (via elvedon)
surrounded by old books
with withered yellow pages
curled around my finger
that is my favorite place to be.
Naked, you are as blue as a night in Cuba;
You have vines and stars in your hair;
Naked, you are as spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Pablo Neruda, “Sonnet XXVII” (via lesgardenias)