"Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day."
virginia woolf
Takashi Watabe
Poets have their desks and pockets filled with poems, artists with sketches, and mine are filled with equations, calculus and books.
After all, we, scientists and you, romantics, aren't so different.
the way my academic arrogance manifests in me as harshly critiquing others' work but then lashes out when somebody else does the same to me
Christ Church. x
Dancing bugs. The population of an old pear-tree. 1870. Book cover.
Internet Archive
i'll be a dreamer 'til the day I die
and they say, oh, how the good die young?
the divine, only in dreams
launch out on his story, muse, daughter of zeus,
start from where you will - sing for our time too.
"The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent indifference of nature for the tangled passions of humans."
Sherwood Smith