Friday, November 30, 2012

shahir zag

random thoughts

markiddo flickr

mary ann riley

rio de janeiro by andre flickr

source coragupana

zsazsabellagio blogspot

via verticalfood

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? 

Well, think about it. Maybe you’re playing a part on a great stage 

with only yourself as audience.

 John Steinbeck, East of Eden 

by Paolo Roversi

via keroiam tumblr

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Friday, November 23, 2012

new romanian band- love it!

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. 
But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, 
you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. 
Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws 
were arranged in such a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.
 Lisa Kleypas

joost vandeburg


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

The essence of all beautiful art, all great art, is gratitude.
Friedrich Nietzsche 

The unhappy person is one who has his ideal, the content of his life, 

the fullness of his consciousness, the essence of his being, 

in some manner outside of himself.

Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or

Monday, November 19, 2012

The British psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott believed artists were people driven 
by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.
Mary Ruefle, “On Fear” 

Sunday, November 18, 2012

 I am tired of the words “I love you,” of “beauty,” of “romance.” 
They are putting in a neatly-wrapped package a million squirming feelings, 
only some of which the world would consider appropriate. 
We all approve of “I love you,” but do we approve of the disgusting things 
that love sometimes makes us do? 
Do we approve of the fights, of the tears, of the noises when bodies squish together, 
the aching thoughts of wanting to possess someone entirely? 
Surely these things mean “love” more than most, 
yet they imply love for parts of us that we are supposed to constantly be telling to quiet down.
Don’t quiet yours down. 
Show me your ugly, and I will show you mine. 
And nothing will ever be an unpleasant surprise again, 
because we will have known (in a way most people do not) 
that the other was a real human being all along.
 Chelsea Fagan, Show Me Your Ugly

via tumblr source unknown

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Eclectic mood board - a little bit of fashion, architecture, arts..

1. painting- dan maccaw   2.anarkali indian fashion  3.tree photography tumblr  4.zayed grand mosque

saturday morning sounds like...

Friday, November 16, 2012

Sometimes we enter art to hide within it. 
It is where we can go to save ourselves

via tumblr

Artistii stiu - curcubeul ne arata adevarul despre lumina in care traim noi. 
Noi traim in Rogvaiv. 
Aceste culori, la randul lor, prin amestec pe retina, rezulta lumina 'fara culoare', 
transparenta, alba. Dar sunt momente cand eu nu simt curcubeul, 
cand eu nu simt caldura culorilor ci o lumina rece, distanta, asa cum uneori este viata...

by bubble gum heart flickr

Thursday, November 15, 2012

A belief is only a thought you continue to think.

A belief is nothing more than a chronic pattern of thought, and you have the ability

—if you try even a little bit- to begin a new pattern, to tell a new story,

to achieve a different vibration, to change your point of attraction.
Esther Hicks 

via datura

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

It’s Autumn. Run away to Paris. Listen to Jacques Brel. Wear all black. 
Fill a mint green Ladurée parcel with macarons named after flowers. 
Argue little arguments with yourself over whether or not they are too beautiful to eat. 
Eat them anyway. 
Get lost in the flower markets and get rescued by a French man 
who smiles and tries to teach you to roll your r’s. 
Melt into his accent as he points out every stolen view of the Eiffel tower. 
Get lost in the Louvre, your eyes hidden between the paint strokes. 
Have a picnic with him in the evening along the Seine. 
You’re wearing your favorite dress and your traveling shoes are laying beside you – 
the laces are fraying beautifully. 
You’re having bread and cheese and wine with your feet almost dipped in the river 
with all its lights of Paris like stars dancing over the surface. 
The tourists are waving at you. You laugh. 
You kiss the boy goodnight but your accent still isn’t right as you whisper ‘au revoir’.
 In the morning you take your favorite magazine and brush your fingers 
over the lovers’ locks on the Pont des Arts; 
there’s a blue one with your name on it. You still feel kisses on your lips. 
You take the magazine and lay it on your lap, open it, and get lost in dreams.
Thistle Magazine Dreams/ Autumn 

Monday, November 12, 2012

'Ban' pavillion orproject

poly international plaza

color more...

The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, 
who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, 
who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us 
the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak: A Spiritual Journey

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Every moment happens twice: inside and outside, and they are two different histories.

 Zadie Smith, White Teeth 

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