Auguste Rodin by Marcos Rivas on Flickr.
Spring time car drives
I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I f*cking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I’d see her again
“We were together. I forget the rest.”
–Walt Whitman, “We Two. How Long We Were Fool’d”
I love this letter from Audrey to Cecil Beaton which is included within the ‘Love, Cecil’ book by Lisa Immordino Vreeland.
On the right: Audrey photographed by Cecil Beaton in 1955.
anus:
dog and snog
My yearly dog and snog post
Loulou d'Aki for The New York Times
We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.
Eleanor Roosevelt
