Carole
(Source: oleighvier, via pocketvenus)
πέτρα (rock) + ἰχὠρ (the blood of the gods) > petrichor: the pleasant smell of rain after a dry spell; coined in 1964 by two Australian researchers in an article for the scientific journal Nature, to describe a process whereby oil from dry soil is coaxed out by rain.
The beautiful Plaza San Marco in Venice #Samsung #Art
HOLY FUCKING SHIT YESS
Interviewer: Do you think people understand you?
Bresson: I don’t know if they understand me, but is the issue here the film or me? If its the film, I think - I’d rather people feel a film before understanding it. I’d rather feelings arise before intellect.
(Source: maudit)
HOW, it’s not fair
The finest love is the one without knowing or seeing, the kind whereby an unwitting hind is devoured truculently by the eyes of a hidden stalker. Amidst the shadowed throes of desire, the seer refines his ugly yearnings into the warm purity of the written word. A letter is produced, sealed, and hidden upon the windowsill of the unwitting par amour. The recipient innocently breaks the seal, and her initial bafflement gives way to hot restlessness. The knees tremble, the cheeks smolder, and the breast heaves with uncertain solicitousness. Her mind is whirled by a phantom wooer, a distillation of all her ludicrous dreams and fancies, an amalgamation of forms obscure and lucid. The moment is darkened by a Libyan haze, under which all things lose distinction and take up a kind of emanating splendor. Only the myths make any sense, and the poor dame wastes away wondering whether she is to play Thisbe or Zoraida.
(Source: pauvremelodynelson)
(Source: maudit)
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