Willem Van Aelst, Still Life (1675)
oil on canvas, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum.
The swans are gone. Still the river Remembers how white they were. It strives after them with its lights. It finds their shapes in a cloud. What is that bird that cries With such sorrow in its voice? I am young as ever, it says. What is it I miss?
Sylvia Plath · “Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices.” The Collected Poems (1981)
The sound of the sea ebbed into the flow of my dreams.
Jeanette Winterson, Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days; from 'Dark Christmas'
I was never really insane, except on occasions where my heart was touched […]
Edgar Allan Poe, from a letter to Mrs. Maria Clemm; 7th July, 1849







