Tag: amsterdam, golden-age, history, lgbt

There are horizons through the brickwork, you wait and see.

What was once, is no longer.

The night darkens, the stars unfriendly, the cold a knife upon her neck – but Nella waits, until she can no longer difference between Johannes and the darkness that carries him away.

Neighbours watching neighbours, twisting ropes to bind us all.

From little seeds great flowers grow.

I feel younger than eighteen but burdened as a eighty-year-old.

The ink was secret nectar, for Marin isn’t married.

You are a stone, thrown upon a lake. But the ripples you create will never make you still.

This city is like no other city in the world. It is brilliant but it is bloated, and I’ve never called it home

The turnip cannot thrive in the tulips patch of soil.

The rules of this house are written in water. I must either sink or swim.

Because, Petronella – it’s something in his soul. It’s something in his soul and you can’t get it out.