Category Archives: literature

May 19 1 comments
literature, photography

tom is as bold as the knights of old

What’s that? Two posts in one day, you say? Yeah, well, this is too good to wait for.

It seems to me like this. It’s not a terrible thing – I mean, it may be terrible, but it’s not damaging, it’s not poisoning, to do without something one wants. It’s not bad to say: My work is not what I really want, I’m capable of something bigger. Or I’m a person who needs love, and I’m doing without it. What’s terrible is to pretend that the second-rate is first-rate. To pretend that you don’t need love when you do; or you like your work when you know quite well you’re capable of better.

irvingpennlarivien315

May 19 1 comments
literature

they say the sun comes up every morning

Dear readers, I can only apologise profusely for my absence. Nothing much to report (hence my absence, yeah?). I have been mostly scouring eBay looking for anything remotely Glastonbury worthy and obsessing over/spending far too much time with my current book (The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing – baffling in parts but on the whole really very wonderful). I’ve nearly finished the book (and I’ve nearly finished having regular tantrums about missing auction endings on eBay) so I promise to be back with you properly from hereon in. It won’t even be that good when I’m back because I’ll just be bleating on about how THE SUN IS OUT and GLASTONBURY IS A MERE 5 WEEKS AWAY. 5 weeks today. Eeeeeeeeep!

Willard Downes

May 10 0 comments
literature, photography

i am not afraid of the dark

And she made a wide sweeping movement with her hand, brushing away the great dark weight of London, and the thousand ugly towns, and the myriad small cramped lives of England…. Yet at the time she was perfectly happy. The weight of the city was off her, and the scent of the grasses and the sun were delicious.

audrey 01

May 08 0 comments
literature, photography

i don’t pretend to know what you want

I have never, in all my life, been so desperately and wildly and painfully happy as I was then. It was so strong I couldn’t believe it. I remember saying to myself, This is it, this is being happy, and at the same I was appalled because it had come out of so much ugliness and unhappiness. And all the time, down our cold faces, pressed together, the hot tears were running.

Robert-Doisneau-Le-baiser-de-l-Op-ra--1950-50747