Yet another casual outfit (RIVERSIDE) / I još jedna ležerna kombinacija (UZ RIJEKU)

Hello! In this post, I'll take you to Buna river near Mostar, a place of exceptional beauty and serenity. 

POST UPDATE - 2024 VISIT HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY- 15 READING RECOMMENDATIONS! (modaodaradosti.blogspot.com)

 LOCATION: BUNA RIVER

VISIT BUNICA RECREATIONAL AREA WITH ME! WINTER 2022 (modaodaradosti.blogspot.com)

MY PREVIOUS VISITS TO BUNA: RECENT ONES

TWO LOCATIONS: BUNA AND MOSTAR

A SHORT VISIT TO BUNA 2020  & SPRING STYLING 2021 & ANNIVERSARY VISIT SUMMER 2021

OLD VISITS  TO BUNA  For example in 2013, I showed you a photograph I took of a beautiful bird Euroasian Hoopoe. The same year, I showed you the spring of river Buna that is said to be the most powerful spring in Europe.  If, you want to see more of this place, you can read about one of my earliest visits here (2013), you can see an outfit post with Buna in the background here (2013), you can read about spring time and my love of flowers here (2017), you can read about my most recent visit here (2017), you can read about winter magic in Buna revisited post here (2016), you can read about summer magic here (2015). Bellow you can find even more links to some of my older posts about Buna and my visits to this place:  April 6th, 2013, November 28th, 2016,  May 16th, 2017,  June 10th, 2018,  January 24th, 2018,  May 18th, 2018,  March 20th, 2019, March 27th, 2019

September 14th, 2019. 

IF YOU ARE VISITING BUNA DON'T FORGET THAT BLAGAJ IS LOCATED A SHORT DRIVE AWAY!

WHAT TO SEE AND IN BLAGAJ? READ MY POST FROM 2019

VISIT BLAGAJ FORTRESS WITH ME!  READ MY POST FROM 2021

 A QUOTE FROM WHITE NIGHTS BY FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

No, Nastenka, what is there, what is there for him, voluptuous sluggard, in this life, for which you and I have such a longing? He thinks that this is a poor pitiful life, not foreseeing that for him too, maybe, sometime the mournful hour may strike, when for one day of that pitiful life he would give all his years of phantasy, and would give them not only for joy and for happiness, but without caring to make distinctions in that hour of sadness, remorse and unchecked grief. But so far that threatening has not arrived—he desires nothing, because he is superior to all desire, because he has everything, because he is satiated, because he is the artist of his own life, and creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim. And you know this fantastic world of fairyland is so easily, so naturally created! As though it were not a delusion! Indeed, he is ready to believe at some moments that all this life is not suggested by feeling, is not mirage, not a delusion of the imagination, but that it is concrete, real, substantial! Why is it, Nastenka, why is it at such moments one holds one's breath? Why, by what sorcery, through what incomprehensible caprice, is the pulse quickened, does a tear start from the dreamer's eye, while his pale moist cheeks glow, while his whole being is suffused with an inexpressible sense of consolation? 

Why is it that whole sleepless nights pass like a flash in inexhaustible gladness and happiness, and when the dawn gleams rosy at the window and daybreak floods the gloomy room with uncertain, fantastic light, as in Petersburg, our dreamer, worn out and exhausted, flings himself on his bed and drops asleep with thrills of delight in his morbidly overwrought spirit, and with a weary sweet ache in his heart? Yes, Nastenka, one deceives oneself and unconsciously believes that real true passion is stirring one's soul; one unconsciously believes that there is something living, tangible in one's immaterial dreams! And is it delusion? Here love, for instance, is bound up with all its fathomless joy, all its torturing agonies in his bosom.... Only look at him, and you will be convinced! Would you believe, looking at him, dear Nastenka, that he has never known her whom he loves in his ecstatic dreams? Can it be that he has only seen her in seductive visions, and that this passion has been nothing but a dream? Surely they must have spent years hand in hand together—alone the two of them, casting off all the world and each uniting his or her life with the other's? Surely when the hour of parting came she must have lain sobbing and grieving on his bosom, heedless of the tempest raging under the sullen sky, heedless of the wind which snatches and bears away the tears from her black eyelashes? Can all of that have been a dream—and that garden, dejected, forsaken, run wild, with its little moss-grown paths, solitary, gloomy, where they used to walk so happily together, where they hoped, grieved, loved, loved each other so long, "so long and so fondly?" And that queer ancestral house where she spent so many years lonely and sad with her morose old husband, always silent and splenetic, who frightened them, while timid as children they hid their love from each other? 

What torments they suffered, what agonies of terror, how innocent, how pure was their love, and how (I need hardly say, Nastenka) malicious people were! And, good Heavens! surely he met her afterwards, far from their native shores, under alien skies, in the hot south in the divinely eternal city, in the dazzling splendour of the ball to the crash of music, in a palazzo (it must be in a palazzo), drowned in a sea of lights, on the balcony, wreathed in myrtle and roses, where, recognizing him, she hurriedly removes her mask and whispering, 'I am free,' flings herself trembling into his arms, and with a cry of rapture, clinging to one another, in one instant they forget their sorrow and their parting and all their agonies, and the gloomy house and the old man and the dismal garden in that distant land, and the seat on which with a last passionate kiss she tore herself away from his arms numb with anguish and despair.... 

Oh, Nastenka, you must admit that one would start, betray confusion, and blush like a schoolboy who has just stuffed in his pocket an apple stolen from a neighbour's garden, when your uninvited visitor, some stalwart, lanky fellow, a festive soul fond of a joke, opens your door and shouts out as though nothing were happening: 'My dear boy, I have this minute come from Pavlovsk.' My goodness! the old count is dead, unutterable happiness is close at hand—and people arrive from Pavlovsk!" Finishing my pathetic appeal, I paused pathetically. I remembered that I had an intense desire to force myself to laugh, for I was already feeling that a malignant demon was stirring within me, that there was a lump in my throat, that my chin was beginning to twitch, and that my eyes were growing more and more moist.

“To remember, for instance, that here just a year ago, just at this time, at this hour, on this pavement, I wandered just as lonely, just as dejected as to-day.

And one remembers that then one’s dreams were sad, and though the past was no better one feels as though it had somehow been better, and that life was more peaceful, that one was free from the black thoughts that haunt one now; that one was free from the gnawing of conscience — the gloomy, sullen gnawing which now gives me no rest by day or by night.

And one asks oneself where are one’s dreams. And one shakes one’s head and says how rapidly the years fly by! And again one asks oneself what has one done with one’s years.

Where have you buried your best days? Have you lived or not?

Look, one says to oneself, look how cold the world is growing. Some more years will pass, and after them will come gloomy solitude; then will come old age trembling on its crutch, and after it misery and desolation.

Your fantastic world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die and will fall like the yellow leaves from the trees. . . .

Oh, Nastenka! you know it will be sad to be left alone, utterly alone, and to have not even anything to regret — nothing, absolutely nothing . . . for all that you have lost, all that, all was nothing, stupid, simple nullity, there has been nothing but dreams!”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

“...mene ponekad

obuzimaju časovi takva jada... Jer mi se već počinje činiti u tim časovima da nipošto

nisam sposoban da otpočnem živjeti pravim životom, jer mi se već činilo da sam izgubio

svaki takt, svaki osjećaj za ono što je pravo, zbiljsko; jer nakon mojih noći fantaziranja

snalaze me već časovi otrežnjavanja, koji su užasni! A onamo čuješ kako oko tebe grmi i

vitla se u životnom vihoru svjetina, čuješ, vidiš kako žive ljudi, vidiš da njima nije život

zabranjen, da se njihov život neće razletjeti kao san, kao prikaza, da se njihov život

vječito obnavlja, da je vječito nov, i ni jedan sat u njemu ne nalikuje na drugi — a kako je

sjetna i do nesklapnosti jednolična zazorljiva fantazija, robinja sjene, ideje, prvoga

oblaka, koji će iznenada da zastre sunce i jadom da stegne pravo petrogradsko srce što

toliko dršce za svojim suncem — pa i kakva je fantazija u jadu! Osjećaš da ona napokon

sustaje, iscrpljuje se u vječitom naporu ta neiscrpna fantazija, jer postaješ i muževan,

ostavljaju te tvoji predašnji ideali; rasipaju se u prašinu, u mrvež; ako pak nemaš drugoga

života, moraš ga graditi iz toga istoga mrveža. A međutim, duša moli i želi nešto drugo! I

uzalud sanjar čeprka, kao po pepelu, po starim svojim sanjama i traži u tom pepelu bilo

kakvu iskricu da je raspuše, da obnovljenim ognjem zagrije ohladnjelo srce i u njem

uskrisi sve što je nekada bilo tako milo, što je diralo dušu, što je upaljivalo krv, što je

otimalo suze iz očiju i tako raskošno zavaravalo!”

CITAT IZ  BIJELIH NOĆI DOSTOJEVSKOG

“Listen," she said taking my hand. "Tell me: you wouldn't have behaved like this, would you? You would not have abandoned a girl who had come to you of herself, you would not have thrown into her face a shameless taunt at her weak foolish heart? You would have taken care of her? You would have realized that she was alone, that she did not know how to look after herself, that she could not guard herself from loving you, that it was not her fault, not her fault-that she had done nothing...”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

“A fresh dream-fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him ! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life"! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated picture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

“Quanto più siamo infelici, tanto più profondamente sentiamo l'infelicità degli altri; il sentimento non si frantuma, ma si concentra...”
Fëdor Dostoevskij, Le notti bianche

......

“Dio mio! Un minuto intero di beatitudine! È forse poco per colmare tutta la vita di un uomo?”

....

“Era una notte meravigliosa, una notte come ce ne possono essere soltanto quando si è giovani, caro lettore. C'era un cielo così stellato, un cielo così luminoso che, volgendo ad esso lo sguardo, senza volerlo, non si poteva non domandarsi: è mai possibile che sotto un cielo come questo viva ogni sorta di gente arrabbiata e capricciosa? Anche questa è una domanda da giovani, caro lettore, da molto giovani, ma che Iddio ve la mandi più spesso nel cuore!”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Le notti bianche /White Nights

“E ti chiedi: “Dove sono i tuoi sogni?”, e scuotendo la testa dici: “Come volano in fretta gli anni!”. E di nuovo ti chiedi: “Che cosa hai fatto con i tuoi anni? Dove hai sepolto il tuo tempo migliore? Hai vissuto o no?”.

“Sentado aquí a su lado y mientras hablamos, me da hasta miedo pensar en el futuro porque en el futuro hay de nuevo soledad, de nuevo esa vida rancia e innecesaria. ¡Y con qué voy a soñar cuando en la vida real he sido tan feliz a su lado! Oh, bendita sea, mi querida muchacha, por no haberme apartado a la primera, porque ya puedo decir que he estado vivo dos noches de mi vida.”
Fiódor Dostoyevski, Noches blancas

“E intanto lo senti come attorno a te s'agita e turbina la folla umana in un vortice vitale, lo senti e lo vedi come vive la gente, che sta fuori dal sogno, lo vedi che la vita loro non si volatilizza come un sogno, una visione, che la loro vita si rinnova sempre, è sempre giovane, e non c'è un'ora che sia simile all'altra, laddove è così desolante e fino alla volgarità ossessivamente paurosa la fantasia, schiava dell'ombra, di un'idea, schiava della prima nuvola che all'improvviso vela il sole e stringe nell'angoscia un vero animo pietroburghese, chetanto ha a cuore il proprio sole, - e nell'angoscia altro che fantasia! La senti, finalmente, che nell'incessante tensione si sfianca, si esaurisce quest'inesauribile fantasia, perché, ecco, ti fai forte e cerchi di sopravvivere senza i tuoi vecchi ideali: che si schiantano, vanno in frantumi, in polvere; ma se non c'è un'altra vita, bisogna pur costruirsela con quegli stessi frantumi. E intanto l'anima chiede e vuole altro! Invano il sognatore fruga, come tra la cenere, in mezzo ai propri vecchi sogni, cercando in quella cenere anche una sola favilla su cui poter soffiare e riscaldare con fuoco rinnovellato il proprio cuore intirizzito e risuscitare in esso tutto ciò che un tempo era così dolce e commuoveva il cuore, ciò che faceva ribollire il sangue e strappava lacrime dagli occhi, e che tradiva con tanto scialo!”

boots/ čizme: Leonardo, bag/torba: handmade Croatian folkore bag, sunnies/sunčane:DM, rest: no name

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.”

All these photographs were taken on a lovely sunny day, so different from today. The day was quite warm, but still I opted for a rather long sweater. In theory, pairing a long sweater with classically cut jeans and a shorter jacket (shorter in comparison to the sweater) should cut us in half and be quite unflattering. I don't think that happened, though. That proves that the best way to figure out what looks good on you is to give it a try. I admit that I was dressing for comfort here yet the outfit doesn't look unflattering to me. Maybe a bit boring, but not unflattering.  Maybe next outfit will be a bit more fashion forward? 

Sve ove fotografije su slikane lijepog sunčanog dana, tako drukčijeg od današnjeg. Dan je bio poprilično topao, ali ipak sam obukla dugi džemper. U teoriji bi nošenje dugog džempera s trapericama klasičnog kroja i kraćom jaknom (kraćom u odnosu na džemper) trebalo nas presjeći na pola i nimalo ne laskati figuri. No, nešto mi se ne čini da se to dogodilo. To dokazuje da je najbolji način za dokučiti što vam dobro stoji je to isto isprobati. Priznajem da sam se obukla imajući na umu samo udobnost, ali ne mislim da ova kombinacija loše stoji. Možda je malo dosadna, ali ne stoji loše. Možda će iduća odjevna kombinacija biti malo zanimljivija u modnom smislu?