It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.
Charles Dickens

S.C.Z. - Rocamadour

In the meanwhile, she had got her mood on to paper - and this is the release that all writers, even the feeblestm seek for as men seek for love; and, having found it, they doze off happily into dreams and trouble their hearts no further.
Dorothy L. Sayers

S.C.Z. - Rocamadour

Love is too young to know what conscience is.
C.S. Lewis
There must be no barriers to freedom of inquiry. There is no place for dogma in science. The scientist is free, and must be free to ask any question, to doubt any assertion, to seek for any evidence, to correct any errors.
Julius Robert Oppenheimer

“I lost a dream.

It happened last week

In a reality

That is not mine

By choice,

But thrust upon me,

To make me loose

Myself in its

Numbing monotony.”

Khan, Muhammad Imran.

(S.C.Z.)

I that have love and no more
Give you but love of you, sweet;
He that hath more, let him give;
He that hath wings, let him soar;
Mine is the heart at your feet
Here, that must love you to live.
Algernon Charles Swinburne

blastedheath:

Henri Le Sidaner (French, 1862-1939), La table sur la cour, 1926. Oil on canvas, 100 x 81.3 cm.

(Reblogged from laclefdescoeurs)
Stuff your eyes with wonder … live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
Ray Bradbury

laclefdescoeurs:

St. Vaast-la-Hougue, 1892, Eugène Boudin

(Reblogged from laclefdescoeurs)
Life is a great and wondrous mystery, and the only thing we know that we have for sure is what is right here right now. Don’t miss it.
Leo Buscaglia

femme-de-lettres:

Large (Wikimedia)

There are some holidays one doesn’t expect to be able to find celebrated in paintings.

Until recently, Palm Sunday was one of those holidays for me.

Then I ran into Alfred Stevens’ Palm Sunday, from 1862.

Technically speaking, it appears that this young woman has opted for boxwood—rather more accessible in Europe than palm—but, as the Walters Art Museums writes, she nonetheless tucks the sprig of it “behind the frame of her mother’s portrait hanging on the bedroom wall. Another bough, lying on her cloak, is intended for the adjacent miniature, presumably a portrait of her father.”

There is something wonderful about the quiet memorial of it, about the care with which she slips the branch behind the wooden frame.

(Reblogged from laclefdescoeurs)
Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars - mere globs of gas atoms. I, too, can see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more?
Richard Feynman

books0977:

The Reader (2007). Gabrielle Bakker.

Gabrielle Bakker has created a world in which Minotaurs mingle with geishas and various mythical characters. Beautifully executed, her paintings combine diverse formal and historical means in achieving a rich and compelling imagery.

(Reblogged from books0977)