To Bed, 1897, Elin Danielson-Gambogi

"Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others end: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again among the flowers, and look up into the sky."

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After Breakfast, 1890, Elin Danielson-Gambogi

A 1913 love letter that unfolds into a little art gallery.

Palestinian author from Gaza, Hiba Abu Nada, wrote on Facebook days before she was killed by an Israeli strike:

نحن في الأعلى نبني مدينة ثانية، أطباء بلا مرضى ولا دماء، أساتذة بلا ازدحام وصراخ على الطلبة، عائلات جديدة بلا آلام ولا حزن، وصحفيون يصورون الجنة، وشعراء يكتبون في الحب الأبدي، كلهم من غزة كلهم. في الجنة توجد غزة جديدة بلا حصار تتشكل الآن.

Translation:

We, high above in the skies, are building another city filled with doctors without patients or blood, teachers who aren't yelling at students in overcrowded classrooms, there are new families without pain or sorrow, there are journalists capturing heaven, and poets writing about eternal love - all of them are from Gaza, all of them. In heaven, there is a new Gaza without siege forming now.