Despre ...calatorii, carti si moda.

Despre evadari spre noi insine.

Despre descoperiri, locuri si oameni.

Despre trecut, istorie si traditie.

Despre eroi, vise si lumi ireale.

Despre moda si culoare,

Despre stil si frumusete.

Despre aparenta si realitate.

Despre pasiuni contradictorii.

Despre ziua banala de toamna, cu cer ireal de albastru si nori pufosi albi, in care am devenit altcineva.

Despre cautari si intrebari...

Despre mine.





From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—


Edgar Allan Poe