Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays And Poetry

I thought I had been surviving, and yet, what I was really doing was hanging by a string, loosely holding myself from collapsing. I was always on the verge, and I could feel that friction in my soul.

Fariha Róisín, from Who Is Wellness For?: An Examination of Wellness Culture and Who It Leaves Behind

Evelyn Waugh, from Brideshead Revisited (1945)

On Isolation

My flesh, my home 🦪 🫧

White Rhododendron

— Letters to Véra, Vladimir Nabokov

[text ID: Listen, my happiness—you won’t say again that I’m torturing you? How I’d like to take you off somewhere with me—you know how those highwaymen of old did: a wide-brimmed hat, a black mask, and a bell-shaped musket. I love you, I want you, I need you unbearably . . . Your eyes—which shine so wonder-struck when, with your head thrown back, you tell something funny—your eyes, your voice, lips, your shoulders—so light, sunny . . .]

Jessica Silversaga for A Doll’s House magazine, 2011.

what is love if not a repetition of history.

“Yes, darling honey, I am a misery without you. So don’t, I beg, be foolish walking over mountains. If you break a leg, I break my heart, remember.”

— Virginia Woolf in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, 28 February 1927

Still Life with Cup - Lomykin Konstantin Matveyevich , 1981.

Ukrainian *, 1924 - 1993

Oil on canvas , 66 x 55 cm.

*Russian Federation