May 2011
86 posts
i bought “Cat. Wild Cats and Pampered Cats” by Andrew Edney. it’s some kind of album about cats being an inspiration for artists since ancient times and all that. and what surprised and somehow disappointed me also was the fact that there was only one picture by Louis Wain. ONLY ONE. hope for some Wain artwork was the main reason i bought the book, and seriously what the fuck, how come there’s only one artwork by Wain in the fucking album about paintings and other works of art of cats?
srsly.
“To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.”
—Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
“As I wander home along some silent, dark street, I like to hear a man coming home. The man himself is not visible in the darkness, and you never know beforehand which front door will come alive to accept a key with grinding condescension, swing open, pause, retained by the counterweight, slam shut; the key will grind again from the inside, and, in the depths beyond the glass pane of the door, a soft radiance will linger for one marvelous minute.”
—Vladimir Nabokov, “A Letter That Never Reached Russia”
From The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov
From The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov
