One sees a few fascinating faces in Cagliari: those great, dark, unlighted eyes. There are fascinating dark eyes in Sicily, bright, big, with an impudent point of light, and a curious roll, and long lashes: the eyes of old Greece, surely. But here one sees eyes soft, blank darkness, all velvet, with no imp looking out of them. And they strike a stranger, older note: before the soul became self conscious: before the mentality of Greece appeared in the world. Remote, always remote, as if the intelligence lay deep within the cave, and never came forward. One searches into the gloom for one second, while the glance lasts. But without being able to penetrate to the reality. It recedes, , like some unknown creature deeper into its lair. There is a creature, dark and potent. But what? Sometimes Velasquez, and sometimes Goya gives us a suggestion of these large, dark, unlighted eyes. And they go with fine, fleecy black hair- almost as fine as fur. I have not seen them north of Cagliari.

-DH Lawrence, Sea and Sardinia 

That was from the Talmud: we do not see things as we are; we see things as we are.


“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never”

— Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or


It’s snowing outside. And this photo makes me happy. 🌟 well plated food gives me joy.

Someone said they went sledding today. Which sounds fantastic.

Photo: via