Illustration for Shapes and Sounds by Mervyn Peake
Until John came out again there was no sound in the yard—no frogs called, no insects sang, the tree branches stood silent, and no breath disturbed the motionless air.
Tim Powers, from The Stress of Her Regard (thanks, patoisdujour)
Then the two of them were running, side by side, their brilliant yellow gold eyes flashing like stars, searching through the darkness, as the Dragga and the beautiful Drappa vanished down the chasms of the welcoming night.
David Clement-Davies, from Fell (thanks, akhom)
I cannot be grasped in the here and now. For I reside just as much with the dead as with the unborn. Somewhat closer to the heart of creation than usual. But not nearly close enough.
Paul Klee (via menata)
Mr Flay appeared to clutter up the doorway as he stood revealed, his arms folded, surveying the smaller man before him in an expressionless way. It did not look as though such a bony face as his could give normal utterance, but rather that instead of sounds, something more brittle, more ancient, something dryer would emerge, something perhaps more in the nature of a splinter or fragment of stone
from Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake (via menata)
There is accumulation. There is responsibility. And beyond these, there is unrest. There is great unrest.
Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending (thank you, pagethreeninetyfour)
I’m with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
Allen Ginsberg, from “Howl” (thanks, skippingthesurface)
What name is there for the color that arouses
this thirst, which says,
the saga can happen, even to you—