Saturday, March 31, 2012

Monday, March 19, 2012

Temple du Temps, qu'un seul soupir résume,
À ce point pur je monte et m'accoutume,
Tout entouré de mon regard marin;
Et comme aux dieux mon offrande suprême,
La scintillation sereine sème
Sur l'altitude un dédain souverain.

Le cimetière marin. Paul Valery

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Thursday, March 08, 2012

beating strong
Jasper Morrison for ELLE DECOR Italia

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

 Certain things
never meant to be
look better

Bld de Magenta

Thursday, March 01, 2012

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost