“…we Can See Ourselves Turning Into Memories. We Are These Memories. As Of This Moment, We’ll Remember

if not, winter by sappho // ampio orizzonte by ettore tito // lesbos by sylvia plath

The moon had been observing the earth close-up longer than anyone. It must have witnessed all of the phenomena occurring - and all of the acts carried out - on this earth. But the moon remained silent; it told no stories. All it did was embrace the heavy past with a cool, measured detachment. On the moon there was neither air nor wind. Its vacuum was perfect for preserving memories unscathed. No one could unlock the heart of the moon.

— Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

"You only talk about the moon" I'm sorry, but does it look like there's anything more worthy than her highness?

“I think the most beautiful things on a human being are their eyes. You can see the age of their soul and the scars of their past. You can see the stars when they’re in love or the darkness of their hate. You can see the truth and the lies in their look, their heartbeat through their pupils and the art in their irises. That’s why you have to pay attention to the eyes of someone. It’s like a mirror of themselves. You can even see yourself if you ever meet a soulmate.”

— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

— Mikko Harvey,“For M”

“I am going to marry somebody that makes me feel like a poem.”

— Lee Smith

Only reason I haven’t gone insane is because I romanticise everything.

Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

— W.S. Merwin

“Life was easy with you and it came so naturally. You were the extension of me and I would never need to finish my words, as who knew me better than you? You knew your place which was by my side. It is the little things that make the person and you would easily have kept me going for a lifetime. The way you would look at me with fire in your eyes showed me that I was the only one for you. You stole my heart and hid it away.”

— from Al Mujahid's letter to his wife

People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones.

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Complete Prose Collection; “The Brothers Karamazov”