THE END

Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness.

—T.S. ELIOT, The Rock (via topplingmoleskine)

I

Nobody’s serious when they’re seventeen. 
On a nice night, the hell with beer and lemonade 
And the café and the noisy atmosphere! 
You walk beneath the linden trees on the promenade. 

The lindens smell so lovely on a night in June! 
The air is so sweet that your eyelids close. 
The breeze is full of sounds— they come from the town— 
And the scent of beer, and the vine, and the rose…

II

You look up and see a little scrap of sky, 
Dark blue and far off in the night, 
Struck with a lopsideded star that 
drifts by With little shivers, very small and white… 

A night in June! Seventeen! Getting drunk is fun. 
Sap like champagne knocks your head awry… 
Your mind drifts; a kiss rises to your lips 
And flutters like a little butterfly…

III

Your heart Crusoes madly through novels, anywhere, 
When through the pale pool beneath a street light, 
A girl goes by with the most charming air, 
In the grim shadows of her father’s dark coat. 
And since she finds you marvelously naïve, 
While her little heels keep tapping along 
She turns, with a quick bright look… 
And on your lips, despairing, dies your song.

IV

You are in love. Rented out till fall. 
You are in love. Poetic fires ignite you. 
Your friends laugh; they won’t talk to you at all. 
Then one night, the goddess deigns to write you! 
That night… you go back to the café, 
to the noisy atmosphere; 
You sit and order beer, or lemonade… 
Nobody’s serious when they’re seventeen, 
And there are linden trees on the promenade.

—Romance, Arthur Rimbaud (via eight—thirteen)

John is a central figure in my life. I will always be grateful for having so much intimate time with him. The more distant his stuff becomes, the greater he seems. I used to do caricatures of John. He was the only person I knew with an aquiline nose. When I painted him recently, I found myself saying: ‘How did his lips go? I can’t remember.’ Then I would think: ‘Of course you know, you wrote all those songs facing each other.’

—Paul McCartney (via pulsifers)

(via cornettos)