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Quote by Steven Magee

“Two weeks after hurricane Ian, some Florida homes were still flooded from historic high river levels.”

Quote by Steven Magee

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Steven Magee

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“If Madame Rapacine had taught her anything, it was that if you wanted to capture a time, a place, a feeling, you needed to make it into a perfume. Iris understood, Rapacine hadn't destroyed the home she loved--- she had bottled it. But for those few passersby who resist the dissociation the city begs of its residents, those who are more in touch with their bodies, or sensitive to whimsy, or at the very least not in a terrible rush, they had a surreal experience. A Pilates instructor and former principal dancer with the Alvin Ailey company walked by and smelled the water and was reminded of the glamorous patrons at her first professional dance gig, opening a new club called Studio 54. A Japanese chef on holiday passed by and thought it smelled like the yuzu and rosewater cake he once baked for his sister's wedding. And a small child simply thought it smelled like her mother when she was going out for the evening. The perfume that poured from the brownstone could evoke a different memory for every person in New York. But all of them were beautiful.”

HouseMagical RealismFloodedPerfumerBottled
Book:Full Bloom
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“The Giver hugged him. "I love you, Jonas," he said. "But I have another place to go. When my work here is finished, I want to be with my daughter." Jonas had been staring glumly at the floor. Now he looked up, startled. "I didn't know you had a daughter, Giver! You told me that you'd had a spouse. But I never knew about your daughter." The Giver smiled, and nodded. For the first time in their long months together, Jonas saw him look truly happy. "Her name was Rosemary," The Giver said.”

RosemaryIykykThe Giver
Book:Giver, The
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“Ma a volte c’è un qualcosa di febbrile, di morboso, nell’andatura del flâneur. Vaga per la città, sembra alla ricerca di una chimera. La sua meta è confusa o irraggiungibile. La sua andatura si fa nervosa, esasperata: pare un uomo in fuga. Il flâneur fugge la banalità della vita comune. Fugge i ricordi e gli spettri della sua interiorità. Lo sfavillare dell’apparenza fenomenica riempie la cavità vuota del suo io. Il flâneur è un uomo gettato nella strada da un’inquietudine, sospinto da un’ansia di ricerca che lo perseguita e lo distingue da coloro che se ne stanno placidamente seduti al tavolino di un caffè. Come una bestia indomita, il flâneur vaga per la città irrequieto. Si abbandona alla folla come una carcassa all’onda, si lascia invadere dal soffio liberatorio dell’anarchia. E c’è qualcosa di voluttuoso, quasi di orgiastico, in questa dissoluzione.”

ParigiFlâneurVagabondare
Book:Flâneur: The Art of Wandering the Streets of Paris
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