"If you go far enough out
you can see the Universe itself,
all the billion light years summed up time
only as a flash, just as lonely, as distant
as a star on a June night
if you go far enough out.

And still, my friend, if you go far enough out
you are only at the beginning

—of yourself."

— Rolf Jacobsen (via whiskey river)

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Lucian Freud in 1954. Photograph: Paul Popper/Popperfoto (via)

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"'I’ve gotta use words when I talk to you,' wrote Eliot in his fragmentary drama Sweeney Agonistes (1932), painfully aware of the difficulty of exteriorizing the inner life. How is a moment of awful daring to be represented in language, not only in the language of poetry but in the daily language of letters one writes to one’s mother or sisters, to one’s fellow writers or friends? What prevents such moments from seeming merely capricious and shallow, rather than essential and irrevocable? Unlike his contemporary Virginia Woolf, whose letters, diaries, essays and manuscripts have been edited meticulously, Eliot is only beginning to be edited, and the vast majority of his writing remains uncollected in any form."

— James Longenbach, "Visions and Revisions," on the publication on volumes 1 and 2 of Eliot's letters

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The Chapuisat Brothers (via)

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                                   "But the sun
underfoot is so dazzling
down there among the sundews,
there is so much light
in that cup that, looking,
you start to fall upward."

— Amy Clampitt, from "The Sun Underfoot Among the Sundews"