When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.
Sean O’Casey
Sunday with A.A Milne and my beloved teddy bear Winnie the Pooh.
Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.
Sunday with A.A Milne and my beloved teddy bear Winnie the Pooh.
Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.
Hello, is it me you looking for?…
Hello, is it me you looking for?…
Hello, is it me you looking for?…
Hello, is it me you looking for?…
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
Hunter S. Thompson
I wouldn’t know what to do with [color]. Color to me is too real. It’s limiting. It doesn’t allow too much of a dream. The more you throw black into a color, the more dreamy it gets… Black has depth. It’s like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on in there become manifest. And you start seeing what you’re afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream.
David Lynch
I wouldn’t know what to do with [color]. Color to me is too real. It’s limiting. It doesn’t allow too much of a dream. The more you throw black into a color, the more dreamy it gets… Black has depth. It’s like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on in there become manifest. And you start seeing what you’re afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream.
David Lynch
Sunday Book – The Trimmed Lamp by O. Henry
“You little fool!” cried Lou, loudly and affectionately. “I see you are still working in that store, and as shabby as ever. And how about that big catch you were going to make – nothing doing yet, I suppose?”
And then Lou looked, and saw that something better than prosperity had descended upon Nancy – something that shone brighter than gems in her eyes and redder than a rose in her cheeks, and that danced like electricity anxious to be loosed from the tip of her tongue.
“Yes, I’m still in the store,” said Nancy, “but I’m going to leave it next week. I’ve made my catch – the biggest catch in the world. You won’t mind now Lou, will you?..I’m going to be married to Dan, to Dan!…he’s my Dan now, why, Lou!”
Around the corner of the park strolled one of those new-crop, smooth-faced young policemen that are making the force more endurable, at least to the eye. He saw a woman with an expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands crouching down against the iron fence of the park sobbing turbulently, while a slender, plainly-dressed working girl leaned close, trying to console her. But the Gibsonian cop, being of the new order, passed on, pretending not to notice, for he was wise enough to know that these matters are beyond help so far as the power he represents is concerned, though he rap the pavement with his nightstick till the sound goes up to the furthermost stars.
Sunday Book – The Trimmed Lamp by O. Henry
“You little fool!” cried Lou, loudly and affectionately. “I see you are still working in that store, and as shabby as ever. And how about that big catch you were going to make – nothing doing yet, I suppose?”
And then Lou looked, and saw that something better than prosperity had descended upon Nancy – something that shone brighter than gems in her eyes and redder than a rose in her cheeks, and that danced like electricity anxious to be loosed from the tip of her tongue.
“Yes, I’m still in the store,” said Nancy, “but I’m going to leave it next week. I’ve made my catch – the biggest catch in the world. You won’t mind now Lou, will you?..I’m going to be married to Dan, to Dan!…he’s my Dan now, why, Lou!”
Around the corner of the park strolled one of those new-crop, smooth-faced young policemen that are making the force more endurable, at least to the eye. He saw a woman with an expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands crouching down against the iron fence of the park sobbing turbulently, while a slender, plainly-dressed working girl leaned close, trying to console her. But the Gibsonian cop, being of the new order, passed on, pretending not to notice, for he was wise enough to know that these matters are beyond help so far as the power he represents is concerned, though he rap the pavement with his nightstick till the sound goes up to the furthermost stars.
He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others–the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.
Jonathan Safran Foer – Everything Is Illuminated
He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others–the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.
Jonathan Safran Foer – Everything Is Illuminated
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams,
we can be together all the time.”
Winnie the Pooh
![Sasha Luss Instagram - I wouldn't know what to do with [color]. Color to me is too real. It's limiting. It doesn't allow too much of a dream. The more you throw black into a color, the more dreamy it gets… Black has depth. It's like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on in there become manifest. And you start seeing what you're afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream. David Lynch](https://www.gethucinema.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/SashaLuss54-fAxErQ5958-150x150.jpg)
![Sasha Luss Instagram - I wouldn't know what to do with [color]. Color to me is too real. It's limiting. It doesn't allow too much of a dream. The more you throw black into a color, the more dreamy it gets… Black has depth. It's like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on in there become manifest. And you start seeing what you're afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream. David Lynch](https://www.gethucinema.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/SashaLuss55-v7lXzk4890-150x150.jpg)
