Sailing to the moon
The summer night was starless and stirless,
with distant spasms of silent lightning
Vladimir Nabokov, from Pale Fire (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1962)

apoetreflects:

In my life I try to apologize for things I haven’t done
     yet. Those are the bruised apples of me,
          the possible fruit rotting in the field.

Kelli Russell Agodon, from “Braided Between the Broken,” New England Review (vol. 35, no. 1, 2014)

carolathhabsburg:

Queen Maud of Norway in 1899.
Courtesy of the  RCT.

carolathhabsburg:

Queen Maud of Norway in 1899.

Courtesy of the  RCT.

Here is the handful
of shadow I have brought back to you:
this decay, this hope, this mouthful
of dirt, this poetry.
Margaret Atwood, “Mushrooms,” from Notes Towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written (Salamander Press, 1981)
There is so much silence between the words,
you say. You say, The sensed absence
of God and the sensed presence
amount to much the same thing,
only in reverse.
Margaret Atwood, from “In the Secular Night,” Morning in the Burned House (Houghton Mifflin, 1995)
wantly:

♡

wantly:

edenliaothewomb:

Kirsten Dunst, photographed by Kayt Jones for Vs. magazine,  F/W 14.15.

edenliaothewomb:

Kirsten Dunst, photographed by Kayt Jones for Vs. magazine,  F/W 14.15.

snowce:

…And she, sweet lady, dotes, devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
William Heath Robinson, from A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare, 1914

snowce:

…And she, sweet lady, dotes,
devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

William Heath Robinson, from A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare, 1914