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Do you ever think about how many of the items now considered priceless artifacts were once commonplace items? The coins we now marvel at from behind the glass at a museum were once tossed around, stepped on, and traded around. The pottery painstakingly pieced back together was somebody’s favorite wine jug. The decorative pin now rusted and bent once held together the shoulder of someone’s chiton. History is simply a trail of ordinary people going about their day, and I think there’s an odd sort of beauty in that.
Franz Kafka, 1912
i love the conclave. what do you mean the entire world has tv cameras trained on the chimney of an old italian palace waiting for days or weeks until the color of the smoke changes and we find out who’s been elected as the next supreme dictator of catholicism
“That is the way I want to write—rich and rhythmic—heavy, sonorous prose that befits those mythic ambiguities that are both source and structure to an aesthetic experience symbolized by language—”
— Susan Sontag, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963
Alina, she/her, infj, writer, environmentalist, modern romanticist
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