LEOPOLD et BONAPARTE

The two men of my life, and the poetry, politics, music, and infinite glasses of wine we've shared
When she was unhappy she would lock herself in the bedroom until she felt better. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want anybody to see me when I’m like that. He used to call her a clam. ‘Open up,’ he hammered on all the locked doors of their life together, basement first, then maisonette, then mansion. ‘I love you, let me in.’ He needed her so badly, to reassure himself of his own existence, that he never comprehended the desperation in her dazzling, permanent smile, the terror in the brightness with which she faced the world, or the reasons why she hid when she couldn’t manage to beam.

— Salman Rushdie, “The Satanic Verses”

Michaela DePrince

(Source: tiaraloveskandlupita, via thequeenbs)

When nothing is sure, everything is possible.

Margaret Drabble

"Elegance is not only what you wear; it’s how you wear it. Who you are inside. It is the way you decorate your house, what you surround yourself with, what books your read, what your interests are.”- Carolina Herrera

"Elegance is not only what you wear; it’s how you wear it. Who you are inside. It is the way you decorate your house, what you surround yourself with, what books your read, what your interests are.”

- Carolina Herrera

(via passionia)

After the Iranian leader, Ayatollah Khomeini stated Salman Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses, blasphemed Islam, Rushdie was forced into hiding for fear of his life. Khomeini offered a reward to whoever succeeded in killing the novelist. While in hiding, Rushdie wrote At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers.
An extract:
We revere the ruby slippers because we believe they can make us invulnerable to witches (and there are so many sorcerers pursuing us nowadays); because of their power of reverse metamorphosis, their affirmation of a lost state of normalcy in which we have almost ceased to believe and to which the slippers promise us we can return; and because they shine like the footwear of the gods.
[…]
‘Home’ has become such a scattered, damaged, various concept in our present travails. There is so much to yearn for. There are so few rainbows any more. How hard can we expect even a pair of magic shoes to work? They promised to take us home, but are metaphors of homeliness comprehensible to them, are abstractions permissible? Are they literalists, or will they permit us to redefine the blessed word?

After the Iranian leader, Ayatollah Khomeini stated Salman Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses, blasphemed Islam, Rushdie was forced into hiding for fear of his life. Khomeini offered a reward to whoever succeeded in killing the novelist. While in hiding, Rushdie wrote At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers.

An extract:

We revere the ruby slippers because we believe they can make us invulnerable to witches (and there are so many sorcerers pursuing us nowadays); because of their power of reverse metamorphosis, their affirmation of a lost state of normalcy in which we have almost ceased to believe and to which the slippers promise us we can return; and because they shine like the footwear of the gods.

[…]

Home’ has become such a scattered, damaged, various concept in our present travails. There is so much to yearn for. There are so few rainbows any more. How hard can we expect even a pair of magic shoes to work? They promised to take us home, but are metaphors of homeliness comprehensible to them, are abstractions permissible? Are they literalists, or will they permit us to redefine the blessed word?

I have no mercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people, and then penalize them for not being able to stand under the weight.

Malcolm X

Girls on Bikes

Photographed on the streets of Amsterdam by Guy Laroche for Free People January 13th.

“Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.”
— Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities 
Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.

— Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities 

(Source: mugenstyle, via dolce-vita-lifestyle)