Postcard Size Quotes

There is one drawing of him that is very small, on a postcard-size piece of paper, and when he examines it more closely, he sees that something had been written on it, and then erased: 'Dear Jude,' he makes out, 'please' - but there is nothing more after that word.

clean boyfriend someday. I love you. Joe. On the other side was a photograph of the Sylvia Beach Hotel on the Oregon coast, where we’d stayed together once. I stared at the photograph for several moments, a series of feelings washing over me in waves: grateful for a word from someone I knew, nostalgic for Joe, disappointed that only one person had written to me, and heartbroken, unreasonable as it was, that the one person who had wasn’t Paul. I bought two bottles of Snapple lemonade, a king-sized Butterfinger, and a bag of Doritos and went outside and sat on the front steps, devouring the things I’d purchased while reading the postcard over and over again. After a while, I noticed a box in the corner of the porch stuffed

The deeply flushed midsummer sunlight, the strong, clear alcohol filling a dirty glass, a goat tethered with a rope, the enormous sides of a glitteringly white modern building, the solemn melody of the national orchestra, the slender-necked actress who was performing on the stage, the arc of a rainbow which, after a sudden shower, fell to the earth like an arrow from between the clouds, a sheepdog pressed flat under the wheel of a car, a herd of stubborn goats bobbing their heads with profound indifference, blue cloth fluttering in the wind, designating something sacred, a swarthy woman looking down on the street below from a first-floor window, her exposed chest leaning out over the wooden frame, cat-sized rats threading their way around the legs of market stalls, unlit signs and display windows, a sombrely lit butcher’s fridge, each dark red carcass still buttressed with the animal’s skeleton, Banchi’s printing shop, on the ground floor of a temple on the main street in the city centre, there Banchi makes picture postcards featuring his own translations of Indian sutras.

Hal particularly enjoyed drawing and painting as he traveled. He took postcard-sized art paper and, while waiting in an airport or taking a private moment in the home of a generous host, would capture a scene of an intriguing place or person. On a long trip, Kathy and the children might receive one of these original postcards in the mail. Upon his return home, Hal would send a similar custom-made thank-you note to his host. He found drawing and painting not only diverting but spiritually uplifting and even revelatory.

In October Bonhoeffer sent a novelty postcard to Rüdiger Schleicher. It pictured him behind a life-sized cardboard picture of a matador and a bull so that his head was on the matador’s body: “The quiet hours in which I cultivated the Arte taurina, have, as you can see, led to tremendous success in the arena. . . . Greetings from the matador. Dietrich.

It has long been understood by neuroscience that placing limits on ourselves sparks creativity. We don’t need research to remind us of this; all it takes is a little exercise in imagination. If an artist is given a canvas the size of an acre and told to paint what-the-fuck-ever comes to mind, then the artist will struggle with where to begin and how to fill all that space. However, give that same artist a blank postcard and say the end result should be an existential reflection of the current state of humankind as a result of the lack of connectivity brought on by life in the Age of Distraction, and the artist will be in the zone in no time flat.

The size of those mountains is humbling, and although I’ve never felt more alive than I do now, I’m still somewhat lost.

covered my face while I dusted it, and watched the little particles flicker in the sunlight. Even after having a greatly minute size, the particles still manage to scatter the light, make themselves visible. Instead of letting the mighty sunlight overpower, they let it beautify their presence.