Morocco | Photos by Bruno Barbey (1972-2003)

Bruno Barbey, Morocco, Picnic near Marrakech. 1972
Bruno Barbey, Imilchil village. 1987
Bruno Barbey, Morocco, Village of Mzouda, near Marrakech. Young girls chatting. 2003
Bruno Barbey, Casablanca, Buying sheep during Ait Kebir festivities, 1993
Bruno Barbey, Sale, near Rabat. Old inhabited fort, 1972
Bruno Barbey, Town of Essaouira. 1985. The fishing harbour
Bruno Barbey, Marrakech. 1980
Bruno Barbey, Fez. Hides of goats and sheep dyed and dried in the sun. 1983
Bruno Barbey, Town of Tangiers, 1985
Bruno Barbey, Morocco, Chechaouen. 1972. The walls of the old city
Bruno Barbey, Morocco, Chechaouen. 1987. In the Rif mountains
Bruno Barbey, Morocco, People going to the market at Aba Chkou. 1988
Bruno Barbey, Marrakech, 1995, Berber women during a festival celebrating Berber culture
Bruno Barbey, Ait Bouguemmez valley, 1988


Sensorium of the World | Laurence Sterne, 1768

“Dear sensibility! Source inexhausted of all that's precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows!
 Eternal fountain of our feelings! 'tis here I trace thee and this is thy divinity which stirs within
 me...All comes from thee, great-great SENSORIUM of the world!” 

Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey, 1768

Ανθρώπινο! πολύ ανθρώπινο! | André Spire (1868-1966)

André Spire 

Ο πατέρας μου ήξερε λατινικά,
η μητέρα μου έπαιζε πιάνο
κι επήγαινε σ’ επισκέψεις.
Καταλαβαίνεις, μικρή μου,

Είχα ένα παιδαγωγό,
ένα άλογο,
ένα τουφέκι,
υπηρέτες και ιπποκόμο.

Αλλ’ αγαπούσα πολύ τα βιβλία,
τις καρδιές και τα μάτια θλιμμένα.
Καταλαβαίνεις, μικρή μου,

Αγαπούσαμε πολύ τα δάκρυα,
την αγάπη, τους νικημένους,
τον ουρανό και τους διαβάτες…
Ας ανάψουμε τη φωτιά μας,
ας τινάξουμε τα βιβλία μας,
ας βουρτσίσουμε τα ρούχα μας,
ας γυαλίσουμε τα παπούτσια μας.

Ας γυαλίσουμε τα παπούτσια μας,
κι ας πλύνουμε τα πιάτα.
Καταλαβαίνεις, μικρούλα μου,

André Spire 1868-1966
μτφ. Κ. Γ. Καρυωτάκης

The Eye of Love | A Photographic Love Poem by René Groebli, France, 1953


First published in 1954, 'Das Auge der Liebe (The Eye of Love)' by Swiss photographer 
René Groebli is a small book featuring images that were made during the honeymoon 
with his wife Rita in France.

"I tried to convey the typical atmosphere of French hotel rooms. There were so many impressions: 
the poor-looking furniture in a cheap hotel, the word 'Amors' embroidered on the curtains. 
And I was in love with the girl, the girl who was my wife. I think a series of photographs 
should be compared with a novel or even a poem rather than a painting: let us tell something!"

René Groebli


Book//mark - Destination Unknown | Agatha Christie, 1954

Destination Unknown, 1954                                                                            Agatha Christie  

“Your hair is very beautiful. There are other things I like about you. Your spirit, your courage; the fact that you have a mind of your own.”

“I don't go in for being sorry for people. For one thing it's insulting. One is only sorry for people if they are sorry for themselves. Self-pity is the biggest stumbling block in our world today.”

“One must have common sense, nothing is permanent, nothing endures. I have come to the conclusion that this place is run by a madman. A madman, let me tell you, can be very logical. If you are rich and logical and also mad, you can succeed for a very long time in living out your illusion. But in the the end this will break up. Because, you see, it is not reasonable what happens here! That which is not reasonable must always pay the reckoning in the end.”

“The trouble in this life is that you never really know where you're going.”

“This was genius at close quarters, and genius had that something above normal in it that was a great strain upon the ordinary mind and feeling. All five were different from each other, yet each had that curious quality of burning intensity, the single-mindedness of purpose that made such a terrifying impression. She did not know whether it were a quality of brain or rather a quality of outlook, of intensity. But each of them, she thought, was in his or her way a passionate idealist.”

“- Nobody's so gullible as scientists. All the phony mediums say so. Can't quite see why.

- Oh, yes, it would be so. They think they know, you see. That's always dangerous.”

“Why do you decry the world we live in? There are good people in it. Isn't muddle a better breeding ground for kindliness and individuality than a world order that's imposed, a world order that may be right today and wrong tomorrow? I would rather have a world of kindly, faulty, human beings, than a world of superior robots who've said goodbye to pity and understanding and sympathy.”

“I did not really seek liberty. I am a civilised man. The civilised man knows there is no such thing. Only the younger and cruder nations put the word Liberty on their banner. There must always be a planned framework of security. And the essence of civilisation is that the way of life should be a moderate one.”

“- You think I shall differently tomorrow? [about suicide]

- People do.

- Yes, perhaps. If you're doing things in a mood of hot despair. But when it's cold despair, it's different. I've nothing to live for, you see.”

“Mrs. Baker's social manner was almost robotlike in its perfection. All her comments and remarks were natural, normal, everyday currency, but one had a suspicion that the whole thing was like an actor playing a part for perhaps the seven hundredth time. It was an automatic performance, completely divorced from what Mrs. Baker might really have been thinking or feeling.”

“That, of course, depends entirely on who you mean by 'they'. It's a very vague term. Who is or are 'they'? Is there such a thing, are there such persons as 'they'? We don't know.

But I can tell you this. If the most popular explanation of 'they' is accepted, then these people work in very close, self-contained cells. They do that for their own security.”

“- When one has at last reached freedom, can one even contemplate going back?

- But if it is not possible to go back, or to choose to go back, then it is not freedom!”

 Agatha Christie, Destination Unknown 
 / So Many Steps to Death, 1954


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