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(Source: mindgardens67)

All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenthearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise.

— Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses

In a lot of ways it’s felt like time was on hold until tonight. When I gripped my wee pencil in that booth earlier, I thought of Dad, and Martin, and all the others who never got to make this choice.

I hope I made mine count.

I saw some people starving
There was murder, there was rape
Their villages were burning
They were trying to escape
I couldn’t meet their glances
I was staring at my shoes
It was acid, it was tragic
It was almost like the blues

— Leonard Cohen, Almost Like the Blues

Embra

Embra

Millport

Millport

But this we from the mountains learn,  And this the valleys show;  That never will they deign to hold  Communion where the heart is cold  To human weal and woe.

— William Wordsworth, Composed at Corra Linn, in Sight of Wallace’s Tower

But this we from the mountains learn,
And this the valleys show;
That never will they deign to hold
Communion where the heart is cold
To human weal and woe.

— William Wordsworth, Composed at Corra Linn, in Sight of Wallace’s Tower

Coffee, joint and Dylan - holiday breakfast on a wet Glasgow morning

Then  I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.

— Samuel Beckett, Molloy

(Source: Spotify)

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