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Otto Klemperer | Overture (Suite) No. 3 in D Major | Johann Sebastian Bach

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; 
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.

You will write if you will write without thinking of the result in terms of a result, but think of the writing in terms of discovery, which is to say that creation must take place
between the pen and the paper, not before in a thought or afterwards in a recasting…

It will come if it is there and if you will let it come.

Gertrude Stein (3 February 1974 - 27 July 1946) #quoteoftheday

bonus sunday evening ladyboner, courtesy of birthday boy Nikolaj Coster-Waldau.

Images by Johan Sandberg for instyle, April 2014; Matthew Brookes for vanityfair, April 2013; Frazer Harrison for Getty Images North America, Hasse Nielsen, Rex Features/Billy Farrell Agency/

your sunday evening ladyboner: le vainquers du #tdf edition: @vincenzonibali @petosagan @rafalmajka @ThibautPinot 

Images via Bayern-Rundfahrt, Bryn Lennon for gettyimagesarchivePrzegladSportowy, Sirotti for, Doug Pensinger for gettyimagesarchive, Luk Benies for afp-photo, Graham Watson for cycling

If I had but two little wings
      And were a little feathery bird,
         To you I’d fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
         And I stay here.
   But in my sleep to you I fly:
      I’m always with you in my sleep!
         The world is all one’s own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
         All, all alone.

   Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
      So I love to wake ere break of day:
         For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while ‘tis dark, one shuts one’s lids,
         And still dreams on.

Happy birthday, Thurston Moore

March 1919

Please, please don’t be so depressed—We’ll be married soon, and then these lonesome nights will be over forever—and until we are, I am loving, loving every tiny minute of the day and night—

Maybe you won’t understand this, but sometimes when I miss you most, it’s hardest to write—and you always know when I make myself—Just the ache of it all—and I can’t tell you.

If we were together, you’d feel how strong it is—you’re so sweet when you’re melancholy. I love your sad tenderness—when I’ve hurt you—That’s one of the reasons I could never be sorry for our quarrels—and they bothered you so— Those dear, dear little fusses, when I always tried so hard to make you kiss and forget—

Scott—there’s nothing in all the world I want but you—and your precious love—All the materials things are nothing.

I’d just hate to live a sordid, colorless existence-because you’d soon love me less—and less—and I’d do anything—anything—to keep your heart for my own—I don’t want to live—I want to love first, and live incidentally…

Don’t—don’t ever think of the things you can’t give me—You’ve trusted me with the dearest heart of all—and it’s so damn much more than anybody else in all the world has ever had—

How can you think deliberately of life without me—If you should die—O Darling—darling Scott—It’d be like going blind…I’d have no purpose in life—just a pretty—decoration.

Don’t you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered—and I was delivered to you—to be worn—I want you to wear me, like a watch—charm or a button hole bouquet—to the world.

And then, when we’re alone, I want to help—to know that you can’t do anything without me…

All my heart—

I love you


From the Empire Records soundtrack