take me away

I need the world:

SANTORINI, to recover my heart I left behind.
MAINE, a sailing stargazing sojourn.

THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, because I've never turned down an invitation to dance.

reading currently

My reading currently list has grown out of hand. It is comprised of books that are individually deserving of all of my attention, not one-fourth of it:

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith
The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo
Glory by Vladimir Nabokov
Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik

I resolve, for February, to read these four books. It shouldn't be too difficult, as I've already started all of them.

[Image via Toast]

Quote D'Jour or Nabokov's Glory Once More

"...and what a condiment that was to being in love, what bliss to stand in the wind next to a laughing woman with wind-blown hair, whose bright skirt would now be worried, now pressed against her knees by the same breeze that had once filled Ulysses' sails... and there she is again, aboard someone else's yacht, sparkling, laughing, flinging coins into the water."

[Glory by Vladimir Nabokov, chapters 9 & 20]

star mist velvet travelvet

Santorini 

"A star fell: as so often annoyingly happens, it fell not quite in his field of vision, but off to the side, so that his eye caught only the twinge of a soundless change in the sky. . .'Travel,' said Martin softly, and he repeated this word for a long time, until he squeezed all meaning out if it, upon which he set aside the long, silky skin it had shed - and next moment the word returned to life. 'Star. Mist. Velvet. Travelvet,' he would articulate carefully and marvel every time how tenuously the sense endures in the sound. In what a remote spot this young man had arrived, what far lands he had already seen, and what was he doing here, at night, in the mountains, and why was everything in the world so strange, so thrillful? 'Thrillful,' Martin repeated aloud, and liked the word. Another star went tumbling." 

[Glory by Vladimir Nabokov, chapter 11]

An Early Weekend Perspective

Sometimes I feel like this on the weekends:

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possibly in life.  And I am horribly limited. [Sylvia Plath]

Because I find myself: Stressed over not being able to do all of the un-stressful things I’d like to be doing.

So then I remind myself:

One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words. [Unknown]

And then I feel: Better about things.  

And I realize everything will get done, in addition to confetti-ing my mundane with my creative.  With that, I’m off to trend more to the productive side of life.

Ciao ciao and as ever,

Genevieve

Get In Here

[Found here, thank you le love.]