Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night,
Give me my Romeo. And when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Happy Valentine’s Day from W. Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
William B. Yeats, Lake Isle of Innisfree
On this February day, my thoughts drift to summer memories.
And who shall say–whatever disenchantment follows–that we ever forget magic; or that we can ever betray, on this leaden earth, the apple-tree, the singing, and the gold?
Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel
Anticipating Spring on a winter’s day.
For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life – the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.
The enjoyment of beauty has a peculiar, mildly intoxicating quality of feeling. Beauty has no obvious use; nor is there any clear cultural necessity for it. Yet civilization could not do without it.
So, as winter sets in and the trees rest in their dormant shade of gray, memories of summers past and summers to come beguile the time.
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.”
– Anais Nin