ON SUNDAY [ SEPTEMBER 29, 1907 ]
“…What you experienced with the Portuguese grape is something I know so well: I am feeling it simultaneously in two pomegranates I recently bought from Potin; how glorious they are in their massive heaviness, with the curved ornament of the pistil still on the top; princely in their golden skins with the red undercoat showing through, strong and genuine, like the leather of old Cordovan tapestries.
I have not yet tried to open them; they probably aren’t ripe yet. When they are, I believe they easily burst of their own fullness and have slits with purple linings like noblemen in grand apparel.
–Looking at them, I too felt rising up within me the desire and presentiment of things foreign and southerly, and the lure of long voyages.
But then, how much of all that is already within one, and how much more so when closing one’s eyes tightly….”
-from Letters on Cezanne by Rainer Maria Rilke