Not like the runes that enraged the flames was the song she sang to the sword: she whose curses had blasted the fire till it shrivelled big logs of oak crooned now a melody like a wind in summer blowing from wild wood gardens that no man tended, down valleys loved once by children, now lost to them but for dreams, a song of such memories as lurk and hide along the edges of oblivion, now flashing from beautiful years a glimpse of some golden moment, now passing swiftly out of remembrance again, to go back to the shades of oblivion, and leaving on the mind those faintest traces of little shining feet which when dimly percieved by us are called regrets.
Lord Dunsany, The King of Elfland's Daughter
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The King of Elfland's Daughter
-Robin Harris
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“Who knows what brings fortune, since we cannot see the end?”
— Lord Dunsany, The King of Elfland’s Daughter
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Vincent van Gogh - The Courtyard of the Hospital at Arles (1889)
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Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle
Vincent van Gogh, Garden at Arles (1888)
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― Kazuo Ishiguro, Klara and the Sun
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Mr Capaldi believed there was nothing special inside Josie that couldn’t be continued. He told the Mother he’d searched and searched and found nothing like that. But I believe now he was searching in the wrong place. There was something very special, but it wasn’t inside Josie. It was inside those who loved her.
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Krzysztof Gil — Stardust (oil on canvas, 2024)
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Vincent van Gogh - Sunset at Montmajour (1888)
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Negative space, Malika Favre (print sale)
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by Jessica Lowery
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