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It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter. / Nietzsche

Enigma

Snap

I finally settle on a glass of rich red claret. It smells of old houses and aged wood and dark secrets, but also of hard, hot sunshine through ancient shutters and long, wicked afternoons in a four-poster bed. It's not a wine, it's a life, right there in the glass. / N. H.

But, when nothing subsists of an old past, after the death of people, after the destruction of things, alone, frailer but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, smell and taste still remain for a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, on the ruin of all the rest, bearing without giving way, on their almost impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory. / Proust

Te dau pe orice

The neck has a crucial function for beauty. It is a sort of viaduct, and beyond the bridge you can truly lose yourself forever, like when you arrive in the desert and move forward between dunes which, caressed by the wind, seem to multiply endlessly. / V. A.

O veste care a venit ca un trăznet peste noi toți: Adi nu mai este. După ce șocul și durerea vor trece, va rămâne poezia; poeziile de dragoste atât de frumoase. Vor rămâne amintirile și frumusețea. Adi recitând - și o melodie care, deși nu era în playlistul lui, e posibil să descrie raiul, așa cum îl vedeasimțea el. Rămâi cu bine Adi, ne vom întâlni cu toții în acel loc. Înmormântarea va avea loc azi, cimitirul Bellu, aleea Artiștilor.

CALM - the sanctuary in my pocket. And the first story I've listened today on the beach. So so happy for this.

'They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!'

Cursa

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside. / Lovelace

Andra, din frisonantul 'Tribar'

a-muse-d. Dan. poezie. esențe.

Eros & Thanatos

Liviu Ofileanu despre "Fluvii de asfalt"

Despre poezie

Claudiul

Artistul e un mormânt de profanat pe dinăuntru - noul look al Tramvaiului 26, dumincă

The life