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I loved thee once; I’ll love no more— Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same?

Sir Robert Ayton, To an Inconstant One (via lucasta)

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blueberry-sour cream muffins

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Isn’t it strange? There are so many people out there who secretly love someone. And there are so many people out there who have no idea that someone secretly loves them.

(via fuckinq)

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Unlike the noisy wash of dry deciduous leaves the needles blanket the earth

pliant beneath a bare foot, stealthy,              floating, a walk through the pines.

Silence in the forest comes from books.

—Susan Stewart, from “Pine” Photography credit Sebastien Zanella

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Hemingway knew the secret. I mean, he was a lush and a bad man in many ways, but he knew the secret. You get up and, first thing in the morning, you do your 500 words. Do it every day and you’ve got a book in eight or nine months.

Bill Gates’s favorite author, who has published more than 30 books, attests to the power of work ethic, echoing E. B. White’s contention that “a writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper,” Chuck Close’s assertion that ”inspiration is for amateurs – the rest of us just show up and get to work.”  Tchaikovsky and Jack White would agree. (via nedhepburn)

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