Henry Meynell Rheam, The sleeping beauty, 1899 M’è dolce indugiarti d’accanto in questo raccolto tepore. Rintoccano trepide l’ore siccome un lontano rimpianto ripeti parole d’amore; ma piano… ma piano… che duri l’incanto. Non so dove sbocchi (che importa?), ma certo in effluvi di fiori (non senti?) la porta. Sui vetri protesa, vermiglia, origlia la tacita …
Edmund Dulac (1882-1953), Dreamer of dreams In grembo alla notte nevosa, d’argento, immensa si stende dormendo ogni cosa. Solo una eterna sofferenza è desta dentro l’anima mia. E mi domani perché mai si tace l’anima mia, senza versarsi in grembo alla notte che sogna? Colma di me, traboccherebbe tutta a spegnere le stelle. Do you …
Piero di Cosimo, St Mary Magdalene, c. 1510 Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not …
Fernand Leger (1881-1955), Woman with flower I am so afraid of people’s words. They describe so distinctly everything:And this they call dog and that they call house,here the start and there the end.I worry about their mockery with words,they know everything, what will be, what was;no mountain is still miraculous;and their house and yard lead …
Kinuko Y. Craft, Psyche’s Curiosity, 2000 ca For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so, because it serenely disdains to destroy us. Poichè del terribile il bello non è che il principio, che ancora noi sopportiamo e lo ammiriamo così, ché quieto …
Rainer Maria Rilke – Poichè del terribile il bello / For beauty is nothing Read More »
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