Dama z dežnikom

Točno ta odtenek oblakov sem danes iskala, in od vseh slikarjev meni-ne-najbolj priljubljenega obdobja ga je našel Monet. Hecno.

Umreti za ...

Tole ne bo dolg in filozofski post, čeprav bi zelo rad bil, pa mu kopica nepredelanih zapiskov (in kadar rečem kopica, mislim skladovnico knjig, a se kopica bolj prijazno sliši) ne dovoli, da bi zrastel. Mogoče nekoč, ko še izkopljem neko svoje čečkanje z istim naslovom, za zdaj naj zadostuje le pesem, prejle tako močno priklicana iz podzavesti, da jo preprosto moram nekam napisati:

I Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth - the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a-night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names. Emily Dickinson