MIND: Hazy

The Mediterranean sun has something tragic about it, quite different from the tragedy of fogs. Certain evenings at the base is the seaside mountains, night falls over the flawless curve of a little bay, and there rises from the silent waters a sense of anguished fulfillment. In such spots one can understand that if the Greeks knew despair they always did so through beauty and its stifling quality.

Helen’s Exile // Albert Camus

MIND: Fleeting

“Say something I will always remember,” he asked, thinking that in this way he might solve the elusive nature of her talk. She meditated silently and then gracefully made five gestures. She touched her forehead, her lips, her breasts, the center of her throat, then placed her hand under her elbow and held it there and said: “Remember this.”

Collages // Anaïs Nin