cool picture Luke’s Fizzing
Owl reads Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.
Photography by Margo Conner
Photography by michasenrose
The Dark Hedges in Northern Ireland
Photography by Matthias Haker
Gracehill Northern Ireland-These beech trees, known as “The Dark Hedges” were planted by the Stuart family almost 300 years ago. A stunning natural phenomenon, this stretch of road soon became a source of legend. A ghostly figure “The Grey Lady” is known to walk along the winding road at dusk, disappearing once she passes the last tree.
Photography by Colleen
Statue of Vladimir Nabokov in Montreux, Switzerland.
Photography by overthemoon
Artwork by Suellen Santana
Vladimir Nabokov statue overlooking Lake Geneva in front of Palace Hotel.
Photography by spklein52
Photography by David Ip
Photography by Dave Brosha
Photography by Marius Necula
Photography by Renee Rendler-Kaplan
Artwork by Sarah Wimperis
“But what after all is one night? A short space, especially when the darkness dims so soon, and so soon a bird sings, a cock crows, or a faint green quickens, like a turning leaf, in the hollow of the wave. Night, however, succeeds to night. The winter holds a pack of them in store and deals them equally, evenly, with indefatigable fingers. They lengthen; they darken. Some of them hold aloft clear planets, plates of brightness.The autumn trees, ravaged as they are, take on the flash of tattered flags kindling in the gloom of cool cathedral caves where gold letters on marble pages describe death in battle and how bones bleach and burn faraway in Indian sands. The autumn trees gleam in the yellow moonlight,in the light of harvest moons, the light which mellows the energy of labour, and smooths the stubble, and brings the wave lapping blue to the shore.”
-Virginia Woolf
“It was necessary now to carry everything a step further. With her foot on the threshold she waited a moment longer in a scene which was vanishing even as she looked, and then, as she moved and took Minta’s arm and left the room, it changed, it shaped itself differently; it had become,she knew, giving one last look at it over her shoulder, already the past.”
-Virginia Woolf
Photography by Massimiliano
