She asked if I wanted to hear a poem she’d written when she was younger. (At what age, she couldn’t remember) She then recited it from memory. I had her repeat it several times so I could get all the words right:
Were I to dream, then dream I would of days that have gone by.
Your eyes would gleam and so would mine, but joys remembered are no longer mine.
I walk in a garden of memory, reliving the joys and the sorrows as well. I walk with a cane down memory lane, perhaps there, joys remembered will remain.
Perhaps when my hair has turned to gray and my face is etched with pain, I’ll walk with a cane down memory lane. Perhaps there, joys remembered will remain.
"I’m currently trying to find my place in the universe." "What’s been your occupation until now?" "I’m a photographer." "Is there a single photograph that you’ve taken which you are proudest of?" "One time I was photographing from a bridge with a telephoto lens, and I was looking down on a beach. There was this little boy in a cowboy hat playing by the water. I was very patient, and caught this moment when all the adults cleared out of the way, and the tide came in, and the boy was completely alone, surrounded by water. I’ve always viewed it as representative of how we sometimes feel so alone in the world. And when we do, we feel just like a child.”
Emma and Daniel sleeping between takes of Deathly Hallows part 1
“There were days when it was decidedly unglamorous. And I was so tired, I would fall asleep anywhere. They’ll never be released, but the on set photographer has pictures of me falling asleep everywhere. Like on chairs, on the floor, in the middle of a set, all curled up ike a cat. There were times when crew members didn’t know where to find me, but they knew I’d be curled up in a ball somewhere.” — Emma Watson
June 7th, 1942: Edward Hopper completes his best known painting, the seminal Nighthawks. When asked by a Chicago Tribute reporter about the philosophical meaning behind the diner having no clearly visible exits Hopper responded, “Shit. Fuck. I did it again. Goddamnit. Fuck. Not again. I did it again. Shit.” and slammed his hat on his leg.
Why has it taken me this long to realize that everything that ever happens to us, impacts us forever? We are not immune to anything, that we exactly are the sum of our experiences, we cannot be anything less, only that or more