August 2011
106 posts
6 tags
5 tags
“Your lungs fill & spread themselves,
wings of pink blood, and your bones...”
– Margaret Atwood, Flying Inside Your Own Body (via pauses-and-silences)
6 tags
6 tags
7 tags
3 tags
8 tags
6 tags
6 tags
7 tags
6 tags
5 tags
7 tags
7 tags
7 tags
7 tags
2 tags
Martha Argerich, Ravel: Gaspard De La Nuit, Op.55...
1 tag
4 tags
“Perhaps the immobility of the things that surround us is forced upon them by our...”
– Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past, Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff
6 tags
