Skip to main content

Daily Writing, 55 – Leisure

_MG_3960


It was the hour of four in the afternoon, and already in hillside homesteads the day was nearly done.
There was everywhere an air of that sweet, old-fashioned leisure which the world has nearly lost.
It lingered in the slant sunlight that threw shadows across the winding road...

— Florence Bone (1875–1971), The Morning of To‑Day, 1907


Daily Writing, 53 & 54

Spent yesterday and today doing loads of writing.
One was a project for a friend.
The other, was another project for me :)

So even though, it isn’t here. I’m done :)

A thought only really lives until it has reached the boundary line of words; it then becomes petrified and dies immediately; yet it is as everlasting as the fossilised animals and plants of former ages.
Its existence, which is really momentary, may be compared to a crystal the instant it becomes crystallised.
As soon as a thought has found words it no longer exists in us or is serious in its deepest sense.
When it begins to exist for others it ceases to live in us; just as a child frees itself from its mother when it comes into existence.

Arthur Schopenhauer


Daily Writing, 51 – Go Thou to Rome

_MG_3957


Go thou to Rome,—at once the Paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise,
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
The bones of Desolation’s nakedness
Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access
Where, like an infant’s smile, over the dead
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread …

— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais, 49.