Passing stranger!
you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you…
From Walt Whitman’s To a Stranger (1860)
Passing stranger!
you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you…
From Walt Whitman’s To a Stranger (1860)
Filed under Photographs
I am half inclined to think we are all ghosts, Mr. Manders.
It is not only what we have inherited from our fathers and mothers that exists again in us, but all sorts of old dead ideas and all kinds of old dead beliefs and things of that kind.
They are not actually alive in us; but there they are dormant, all the same, and we can never be rid of them.

Peter Eisenman and Buro Happold’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Cora-Berliner-Straße, Berlin, Germany
Whenever I take up a newspaper and read it, I fancy I see ghosts creeping between the lines. There must be ghosts all over the world.
They must be as countless as the grains of the sands, it seems to me. And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us.
From Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts (1881)
Filed under Photographs
In the map of nearly every country of the world three or four more red circles, a score of miles in diameter, mark the position of the dying atomic bombs…
…and the death areas that men have been forced to abandon around them.
Within these areas perished museums, cathedrals, palaces, libraries, galleries of masterpieces…
…and a vast accumulation of human achievement, whose charred remains lie buried…
…a legacy of curious material that only future generations may hope to examine.
From HG Wells’ The World Set Free (1914)
Filed under Photographs