And that’s how I am, futile and sensitive, with violent, absorbing impulses, bad and good, noble and vile, but never with a sentiment that subsists, never with an emotion that continues, that penetrates to the substance of my soul. Everything in me is the tendency to be something else immediately; an impatience of the soul with itself, as if with an importunate child; a disquiet that always grows and always stays the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.
So the at #hotimportnights #HINNorCal the line started inside and then moved and waited outside to see @trinitydang but it’s all good cause she’s pretty awesome 👍👍👍 #worthwaitingfor #trinitydang #beautiful #gorgeous #importuner #selfiesunday (at Santa Clara County Fair)
“Venice appeared to me as in a recurring dream, a place once visited and now fixed in memory like images on a photographer’s plates so that my return was akin to turning the leaves of a portfolio: a scene of the gondolas moored by the railway station; the Grand Canal in twilight; the Rialto bridge; the Piazza San Marco; the shimmering, rippling wonderland; the bustling water traffic; the fish market; the Lido beach and boardwalk; Teeny in the launch; the singing, gesturing gondoliers; the bourgeois tourists drinking coffee at Florian’s; the importunate beggars; the drowned girl’s ghost haunting the Bridge of Sighs; the pigeons, mosquitoes and fetor of decay.” — Gary Inbinder (The Flower to the Painter)