behind closed doors.
cobblestone streets, dark chocolate, breakfast any time of day, food trucks, exploring cities, coffee shops, scarves, watching snow accumulate, unexpected adventures, grapefruit, foreign languages, photography, speculoos, musicals, macarons, flat whites, reading all day, oatmeal, cardigans, typography

We’re not what books and plays say we are. We’re not what advertisements say we are. We’re not in the movies and we’re not on the radio.

We’re not what you’re all told and what you think we are.

We’re ourselves.


Mrs. Antrobus, The Skin of Our Teeth (Act II), Thornton Wilder
We’ve rattled along, hot and cold, for some time now—and my advice to you is not to inquire into why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it’s on your plate,—that’s my philosophy.
Sabina, The Skin of Our Teeth (Act I), Thornton Wilder
That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those … of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.
Simon Stimson, Our Town (Act III), Thornton Wilder
Only it seems to me that once in your life before you die you ought to see a country where they don’t talk English and don’t even want to.
Mrs. Gibbs, Our Town (Act I), Thornton Wilder 
Véritablement, aujourd’hui, qu’y a-t-il?
//
Really, today, what is there?

Stéphane Mallarmé, Anecdotes ou poèmes, « Conflit »
enfilade (n.)

1. Ensemble de choses disposées, situées les unes à la suite des autres ; rangée 

2. In architecture, a suite of rooms formally aligned with one another so that the entrances are on a single axis, commonly used to facilitate the flow of people through museums and galleries 

3. Suite ou série longue et ennuyeuse

Qui ne sait pas peupler sa solitude ne sait pas non plus être seul dans une foule affairée. // Those who do not know how to populate their solitude are equally unable to feel alone in a bustling crowd.
Charles Baudelaire, Le Spleen de Paris, “Les foules”
The past is the present, isn’t it? It’s the future, too. We all try to lie out of that but life won’t let us.
Mary, Act 2 Sc. 2, Long Day’s Journey Into Night, Eugene O’Neill
But I suppose life has made him like that, and he can’t help it. None of us can help the things life has done to us. They’re done before you realize it, and once they’re done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you’d like to be, and you’ve lost your true self forever.
Mary, Act 2 Sc. 1, Long Day’s Journey Into Night, Eugene O’Neill
"joyous apocalypse"- Hermann Broch
Vienna, tun of the century

"joyous apocalypse"
- Hermann Broch

Vienna, tun of the century

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