a clear toaster so you can see how toast the toast is

art is subjective and everyone experiences it differently!

Watercolour showing an evening scene in Trinity Lane, Cambridge

Under the lamp, another Cambridge May Week doodle, watercolour and Indian ink.
#Cambridge #watercolour #mayweek

How old was I when I smashed the fair doll's face? I remember vividly the satisfaction of being wicked. The guilt that was half triumph.

I crept in and hid. The lid of the coffin shut down with a bang.

It was one of those days when you can see the ghosts of all the other lovely days. You drink a bit and watch the ghosts.

My darling mustn’t worry my darling mustn’t be sad - I thought say that again say that again but he said it’s nearly four o’clock perhaps you ought to be going

Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.

I've thought about death a great deal. One day in the snow I felt so tired. I thought, Damn it, I'll sit down. I can't go on. I'm tired of living here in the snow and ice. So I sat down on the ground. But it was cold so I got up.

One day, quite suddenly, when you're not expecting it, I'll take a hammer from the folds of my dark cloak and crack your little skull.

Outside does take a bit of getting used to - but what doesn't?? So damp.

Thinking of buying a garbage can. but not one of those overflowing garbage cans with the flies and wasps buzzing around in the summer heat..a real nice one, in the shade somewhere, with not too much garbage

So many people I've come across have been indifferent to books, and quite a few hate books, any books.

I can't say at all what I mean - the gift of expression seems to have left me, so you must guess.

Do not be sad. Or think Adieu. Never Adieu. We will watch the sun set again - many times.

I've had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night.

I'm trying to do an autobiography now and it's very difficult to remember when I was a child in the West Indies. I did go back once. For a very short time. But all my nuns had gone.

Shirley Jackson was right. No live organism can exist sanely for long under conditions of absolute reality.

Obliged to the ordinary enchantments.

If you sometimes long for a fierce dog to guard your cave, that's only on bad days. Perhaps tomorrow will be a good day.

So that's it

I wait for the evening and the wine and that's all.

The haughty dame is me, a bit ghostly in the sun, but wishing you a lovely time for Christmas and a happy lucky New Year.

Because I have been accused of madness. But if everything is in me, good, evil and so on, so must strength be in me if I know how to get at it.

Today I must be very careful, today I have left my armour at home.

I really cannot bear the thought of another winter in this horrible place. It will kill me, and I'd prefer to die somewhere else.

Dinner was a silent, solemn meal. A dog howled with melancholy persistency.

It's funny when you feel as if you don't want anything more in your life except to sleep, or else to lie without moving. That’s when you can hear time sliding past you, like water running.

It is cold and dark outside, and everything has gone out of me except misery.

Nothing for it now but the midnight train to Brussels and a very thin time indeed.