Bryan Procter

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

There's not a wind but whispers of thy name; And not a flow'r that grows beneath the moon, But in its hues and fragrance tells a tale Of thee, my love.

Death is the tyrant of the imagination.

Deep down, there is in the substance of the cosmos a primordial disposition, sui generis, for self-arrangement and self-involution.

God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.

I spend a lot of time on eBay buying vintage. I also really like Alexander Wang, Miu Miu, Vivienne Westwood, McQueen and Balmain.