where recipe calls for apricots try fog
There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.
Edgar Allan Poe (via mnemosyneindust)
Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
H.D., HERmione (via mnemosyneindust)
i go where i love and where i am loved,
into the snow;
i go to the things i love
with no thought of duty or pity
H.D. from The Flowering of the Rod (via the-slow-dives)
I do not want to name it,
I want to watch its faint
as it quivers, I do not want
to talk about it,
I want to minimize thought,
concentrate on it,
till I shrink,
and am drawn into it.
H.D., Tribute to the Angels (via injusticeworth)
Nothing we have ever felt,
nothing we have dreamt,
or conjured in the night
or fashioned in loneliness,
can equal this.
Eros by Hilda Doolittle (via siruannika)
If we’re not foolish young, we’re foolish old.
I long have known myself what love can do,
For in my time, I was a lover too.
The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer (via quotes-for-reference)