For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
— from The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran
So, basically, these are like tweets from medieval monks, right? (via Benjamin McNutt)
The last one is best. Literature is time travel.
My dear Francesco, I have lately kept praising the age in which we live, because of the great, indeed divine gift of the new kind of writing which was recently brought to us from Germany. In fact, I saw a single man printing in a single month as much as could be written by hand by several persons in a year… . It was for this reason that I was led to hope that within a short time we should have such a large quantity of books that there wouldn’t be a single work which could not be procured because of lack of means or scarcity… . Yet — oh false and all too human thoughts — I see that things turned out quite differently from what I had hoped. Because now that anyone is free to print whatever they wish, they often disregard that which is best and instead write, merely for the sake of entertainment, what would best be forgotten, or, better still be erased from all books. And even when they write something worthwhile they twist it and corrupt it to the point where it would be much better to do without such books, rather than having a thousand copies spreading falsehoods over the whole world.
—
Niccolò Perotti, 1471 (as quoted by Robert Darnton in The Case for Books)
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
(Source: ayjay)
Siegfried leaves Brünnhilde in search of adventure.
Arthur Rackham, from Siegfried & The twilight of the gods, by Richard Wagner, London, 1911.
(Source: archive.org)