Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
From Lord Byron’s Don Juan (1818-1824)
Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
From Lord Byron’s Don Juan (1818-1824)
Filed under Photographs
The stone unhewn and cold
Becomes a living mould,

Monument to the Battle of the Nation (Völkerschlachtdenkmal), Straße des 18. Oktober, 04227 Leipzig, Germany
The more the marble wastes,
The more the statue grows.
From Michelangelo’s sonnet addressed to Vittoria Colonna (translated 1868)
Filed under Photographs
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
From Edgar Allen Poe’s The Conqueror Worm (1843)
Filed under Photographs
Filed under Photographs
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles.
From John Milton’s L’Allegro (1631)
Filed under Postcards
There was no warning…
…just a pounding on the door and then a few fleeting minutes to settle the affairs of a lifetime.
From Howard K Smith’s The Last Train From Berlin (1943)
Filed under Photographs