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And yet, and yet … Denying temporal succession, denying the self, denying the astronomical universe, are apparent desperations and secret consolations. Our destiny is not frightful by being unreal; it is frightful because it is irreversible and iron-clad. Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. The world, unfortunately, is real; I, unfortunately, am Borges.
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Jorge Luis Borges - Essay: A New Refutation of Time, 1946
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Daniel Day-Lewis by Annie Leibovitz, 1993
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Anatomy of the breast from Manuel d’anatomie descriptive du corps humain by Jules Cloquet, 1825
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by Eni Turkeshi
I dream of water lillies,misty fields,falling stairs and burning neighbours,once in a while...
between dear deers and filthy snails,
siandra.female.19.
astrologically,a Lunatic.
