Sleep by Gustave Courbet, 1866 (detail)

Sleep by Gustave Courbet, 1866 (detail)

(Source: idrils-secret-way, via artdetails)

atavus:

Herbert James Draper - Pot Pourri (Detail), 1897

atavus:

Herbert James Draper - Pot Pourri (Detail), 1897

(via artdetails)

fuckyeahpreraphaelites:

An Al-Fresco Toilet (detail) Samuel Luke Fildes1889

fuckyeahpreraphaelites:

An Al-Fresco Toilet (detail)
Samuel Luke Fildes
1889

(via artdetails)

tierradentro:

“The Kiss of the Sphinx" (detail), 1895, Franz von Stuck.

tierradentro:

The Kiss of the Sphinx" (detail), 1895, Franz von Stuck.

(via artdetails)

greuze:

Nicolas de Largillière, Portrait of a Woman (Detail), 1696

greuze:

Nicolas de Largillière, Portrait of a Woman (Detail), 1696

(via artdetails)

aseaofquotes:

Albert Goldbarth, “The Sciences Sing a Lullaby”

aseaofquotes:

Albert Goldbarth, “The Sciences Sing a Lullaby”

In Answer

In these quiet years growing calmer,
Lacking knowledge of the world’s affairs,
I stop worrying how things will turn out.
My quiet mind makes no subtle plans.
Returning to the woods I love
A pine-tree breeze rustles in my robes.
Mountain moonlight fills the lute’s bowl,
Shows up what learning I have left.
If you ask what makes us rich or poor
Hear the Fisherman’s voice float to shore.

- Wang Wei (699-759 AD)

Now the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence… Someone might possibly have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never.”
— Franz Kafka, The Silence of the Sirens

"… we are many different souls. Since I have known you, in just over a decade, I feel that I have been at least three different women. We change, constantly, and it is not until we look back on our lives that we notice it. You have been many men before me, and now you will be another. You are not the same as I last saw you, but you will not be this man for much longer."

Celestial Dynasty. (via jaded-mandarin)

(Source: celestial-dynasty, via jaded-mandarin)

"To a Poet"

“A poet! Do not prize the love of people around,
It soon will pass — the glorifying hum —
And come a court of fools and laughing of cold crowd —
But you must always stay firm, morose and calm.

You’re king: live lonesome. Along the freedom’s road,
Stride there, to where just shows your free mind,
While modernizing fruits of thoughts, beloved,
And not demanding you to be awarded.

Awards inside of you. You are your highest court;
Severely then all, you value your effort.
Well, are you satisfied, oh, my severe artist?

You’re satisfied. Then let the mob condemn your verse,
Spit at the altar, where your fire burns,
And toss your brass tripod with somewhat childish wildness.”

- Alexander Pushkin