A day in need of a Klimt.
A day badly in need of a Klimt.
A day that can’t, in fact, do without
image: Gustav Klimt, The Birch Wood
“The Moving Finger writes, and having writ, Moves on,”
“nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
“Sometimes the physical and emotional chronology of maturation got out of synch with mental maturity, and that could lead to frustration and tears.”
There must be something strangely sacred in salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.