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All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (via litverve)
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Do you look out to-night? The moon rides like a girl through a topaz town.
Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Samuel Bowles, January 1862 (via litverve)
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Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman Yellow she affords Only scantly and selectly Like a Lover’s Words.
Emily Dickinson, “J:1045” (via litverve)
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The red leaves take the green leaves’ place, and the landscape yields. We go to sleep with the peach in our hands and wake with the stone, but the stone is the pledge of summers to come.
Emily Dickinson, The Letters of Emily Dickinson (via litverve)
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The blood pumping of the heart, the severed valves, hurt, love. Your blood flows up into the distant mountains and down into the sea, chasm, the red delta, red river, fluid, brutal poetry of blood and broken.
Carole Maso, from Beauty is Convulsive: The Passion of Frida Kahlo.
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Once again desire has made a ruin of us.
Carole Maso, from Beauty is Convulsive: The Passion of Frida Kahlo.
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You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.
Anna Akhmatova (via larmoyante)
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…our bodies aligned intricate as a river delta, seashore and desert alike alien to that green that covered your mouth with date-leaves, that rained figs like sighs on my shoulders…
Sonya Taaffe, from ‘Postscripts from the Red Sea’ as published in Goblin Fruit.
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