
https://68.media.tumblr.com/2d9d274659b927a05e52abce0c43fa0f/tumblr_niuh0riNsG1sypuuko1_400.gif
Photography + poem + art

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkj3HO6t8O4&app=desktop
Brian Eno – Deep blue day

Travel, for me, is a little bit like being in love because suddenly, all your senses are at the setting marked ‘on.’ Suddenly, you’re alert to the secret patterns of the world.
– Pico Iyer –

For more and more of us, home has really less to do with a piece of soil than, you could say, with a piece of soul. If somebody suddenly asks me, ‘Where’s your home?’ I think about my sweetheart or my closest friends or the songs that travel with me wherever I happen to be.
– Pico Iyer –
Ph : Pavel Kiselev

In many a piece of music, it’s the pause or the rest that gives the piece its beauty and its shape. And I know I, as a writer, will often try to include a lot of empty space on the page so that the reader can complete my thoughts and sentences and so that her imagination has room to breathe.
– Pico Iyer –
Ph : Pavel Kiselev

… the vague sense of standing on a threshold, the crossing of which would change everything.
– Kate Morton –
Ph : Pavel Kiselev

I care so much about everything that I care about nothing
– William Saroyan –
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/42/db/0b/42db0bbec72ec2a07a6e3a60b1ddd643.gif

We must try to remember everything, every movement, every stretch, every convulsion that made us how we move as we readily grow in our outer body that encompasses the planets, the suns and the moons in every other body that we touch, in every other mouth that we kissed, in every other language that we try to comprehend; for they are not the outside of a stranger, nor are they just images of our psyche, but the very being of ourselves, the dimensional levels of our very existence weaving colours in the tapestry of creation, yet the very non-existence of the template is proof of consciousness, of ascension, of Life.
– AainaA-Ridtz –
Ph : Remi & Kasia

To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito.
– Charles Baudelaire – The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays
Ph : Pavel Kiselev