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Horst P. Horst ֍ Helen Bennett, Jewelry (1938)

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He did not like it when on the street behind him a sudden bus spattered his peace with its ugly sound and smell and light. He was sharply angry at the intrusion. His head darted around to vent his scowl. As if the lumbering box had life as well as motion and would shrink from his displeasure. But as his head turned, he saw the girl. She was just stepping off the bus. She couldn't see him because he was no more than a figure in the fog and dark; she couldn't know he was drawing her on his mind as on a piece of paper.

Dorothy B. Hughes ֍ In a Lonely Place (1947)

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Masao Yamamoto ֍ Kawa=Flow #1535 (2016)

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I am always surprised that in Italy those who have adolescent children dream of nothing but sending them to England during the summer holidays. Particularly if they have children who, as often happens during adolescence, are going through a period of being shy, unsociable, sulky and sullen. Italian parents think of England as a cure for just such ailments. In fact, England has no effect at all. It is a country where people stay exactly as they are. A timid person stays timid, and unsociable person stays unsociable. And over this initial timidity and unsociableness spreads the great, limitless English melancholy, like an endless moor in which the eyes can find no landmark.

Natalia Ginzburg ֍ The Little Virtues (1962)

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Sebastian Faena ֍ Kate Upton, 032c Magazine, No. 45 (2024)

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BRUTUS: O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

William Shakespeare ֍ Julius Caesar (1599)

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Robert Pack launches skyward during the Slam Dunk Competition (1994)

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It's the same with man. I figure that when we get too close to the secret Nature has a way of getting rid of us. Of course, we're getting smarter and smarter every day, but we never get to the bottom of things, and we never will. God didn't intend it that way. We think we know a lot, but we think in a rut. Book people ain't more intelligent than other folk. They just learn how to read things a certain way. Put them in a new situation and they lose their heads. They ain't flexible. They only know how to think the way they were taught. That ain't intelligent, to my way of thinkin'.

Henry Miller ֍ The Air-Conditioned Nightmare (1945)

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The Go! Team ֍ Catch Me on the Rebound (2015)

So catch me on the rebound honey 'Cause I think I'm letting go Catch me on the rebound honey 'Cause I thought that you should know In a forest, in the trees Pick me up and stop the breeze And I would never lie, I used to be arranged

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IGGY POP: MainMan were skillful at putting us off. Once the album Raw Power was done, they wouldn't tour us, they would not let us play. We were supposed to do an American tour, but it ended up being one gig in Detroit. But the people loved it. The gig was very successful artistically, but of course I had a problem at the radio station. Everything was a problem with me. Ha. I was a problem. I am a problem. What happened was by the time I finished Raw Power, my standards were different than other people's. That's the only way I can put it. I wanted the music to come out of the speakers and just grab you by the throat and just knock your head against the wall and just basically kill you. That's what I wanted. And it never did that enough for me. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it. I couldn't get the treble to hurt enough. I couldn't get the bass to hit you enough, I couldn't get the beat hard enough, and so on, and so on, and so on. So I kept doing mix after mix until I was crazier and crazier. But it still was not hard enough, you know? Basically, I'd lost perspective—artists do this. And probably the drug use blew that outta proportion. So I just went to the radio station, I don't remember why, but I'm just not the kind of person that can go like a door-to-door salesman, "Hi, I'm really jolly. It's great to be like in the rock & roll business and here's my new tape, heh, heh, heh." Everything's gotta be like something's happening, right? So I went there and took off all my clothes inside the radio station, and started talking on the air, "Yeah, I'm naked here . . . "

Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain ֍ Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk (1996)

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Roger Vadim ֍ Jane Birkin & Brigitte Bardot in Don Juan, or If Don Juan Were a Woman (1973)

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Gwilym was a tall young man aged nearly twenty, with a thin stick of a boy and spade-shaped face. You could dig the garden with him.

Dylan Thomas ֍ Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog (1940)

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Cynthia Grow ֍ Love Letters - Laurence Sterne to Catherine de Fourmantel, 176[0] (2023)

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At the moment I'm distracted and sad; I lost your telegram—that is, it can't be lost, but it's bad enough that I have to look for it. Incidentally, it's all your fault; if it weren't beautiful I wouldn't have had it in my hands constantly.

Franz Kafka ֍ Letter to Milena, July 31, 1920

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Alphonse Mucha ֍ Girl Weeping (c. 1899)

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In the rectory garden on his evening walk Paced brisk Father Shawn.  A cold day, a sodden one it was In black November.  After a sliding rain Dew stood in chill sweat on each stalk, Each thorn; spiring from wet earth, a blue haze Hung caught in dark-webbed branches like a fabulous heron.

Hauled sudden from solitude, Hair prickling on his head, Father Shawn perceived a ghost Shaping itself from that mist.

'How now,' Father Shawn crisply addressed the ghost Wavering there, gauze-edged, smelling of woodsmoke, 'What manner of business are you on? From your blue pallor, I'd say you inhabited the frozen waste Of hell, and not the fiery part.  Yet to judge by that dazzled look, That noble mien, perhaps you've late quitted heaven?'

In voice furred with frost, Ghost said to priest: 'Neither of those countries do I frequent: Earth is my haunt.'

'Come, come,' Father Shawn gave an impatient shrug, 'I don't ask you to spin some ridiculous fable Of gilded harps or gnawing fire:  simply tell After your life's end, what just epilogue God ordained to follow up your days.  Is it such trouble To satisfy the questions of a curious old fool?'

'In life, love gnawed my skin To this white bone; What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.'

'What love,' asked Father Shawn, 'but too great love Of flawed earth-flesh could cause this sorry pass? Some damned condition you are in: Thinking never to have left the world, you grieve As though alive, shriveling in torment thus To atone as shade for sin that lured blind man.'

'The day of doom Is not yest come. Until that time A crock of dust is my dear hom.'

'Fond phantom,' cried shocked Father Shawn, 'Can there be such stubbornness— A soul grown feverish, clutching its dead body-tree Like a last storm-crossed leaf?  Best get you gone To judgment in a higher court of grace. Repent, depart, before God's trump-crack splits the sky.'

From that pale mist Ghost swore to priest: 'There sits no higher court Than man's red heart.'

Sylvia Plath ֍ Dialogue Between Ghost and Priest (1956)

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Hajime Kinoko ֍ Black Label: Japanese Traditional Rope (No date)