“Each shade of a flower, a face, a tree, a fruit, a sea, a mountain, is noted eagerly by the intensity of the senses, to which is added, in a way of which I am not conscious, the strength or weakness of my soul.”
—Max Beckmann
Painting: Max Beckman, Black Irises, 1928.
We did trace our own about the city’s grid, aimless, in fugue: a fugue of love or memory or some abstract sentiment which always comes after the fact and had nothing to do that afternoon with the quality of light or the pressure of five fingers on my arm which awoke my five senses and more…
Sad is a foolish word. Light is not sad: or should not be.
—V., Thomas Pynchon (via lifeinpoetry)
(via journalofanobody)
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
—William Butler Yeats
“Touch has a memory.” —John Keats
Image: John Keats’ death mask.
“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.” —Oscar Wilde
The senses … “The flesh which makes the spirit visible.” —Theodore Roethke
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