Until Then I Had Thought Each Book Spoke Of The Things, Human Or Divine, That Lie Outside Books. Now

“Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realised that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by a human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.”

— The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco. (via a-witches-brew)

Raqsat Al Faras - Nasseer Shamma 

May Sarton, from "She Shall Be Called Woman", Selected Poems

“Her heavy hair was full of the perfume of roses and sandalwood. Beneath the languor of her heavy lids slept passionate violence. She was almost terrifyingly beautiful.”

— Renée Vivien, tr. by Jeanette H. Foster, from “A Woman Appeared To Me,”

“I poured red wine into two glasses and thought vaguely about what to say to my visitor - myself. I anticipated his particular way of exposing me and pulling off my masks, and his sarcastic question: ‘How long is it since we’ve met’ I would say: ‘Not since you had your fill of me and I of you, and you took refuge in my image of you and I in yours of me.’”

— Mahmoud Darwish, from A River Dies of Thirst; Private Meetings.

Ortigia -Syracuse -Sicilia