January 2012
8 posts
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and...”
– Sylvia Plath (via forest-dreams)
“A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That’s all...”
– Jean Rhys
“Dear Sir,
I am writing to you to object to the word cremains, which was used by your representative when he met with my mother and me two days after my father’s death.
We had no objection to your representative, personally, who was respectful and friendly and dealt with us in a sensitive way. He did not try to sell us an expensive urn, for instance.
What startled and disturbed us...
December 2011
2 posts
“I am part of the sun as my eye is part of me. That I am part of the earth my...”
– D. H. Lawrence (via beautifulurself)
November 2011
8 posts
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“In distancing ourselves from society’s conventions and drawing closer to nature, we unwittingly become children. All we have acquired passes from our soul, which is made over such as it once was and will likely be again some day. Whosoever, like me, has had occasion to wander through the desolate mountains and gaze for a long, long time at their fantastical shapes and greedily swallow the...
4 tags
My favourite time of the day has everything to do with light.
It’s early in the morning and light is streaming in through the windows and everything is all shadow and substance. The sun makes you blind for just a second before the whole world comes into focus, saturated in sunlight.
These are the moments that always make me regret my indulgences in mornings spent lifeless, make me wish I...
October 2011
7 posts
2 tags
“All the afternoon he had sat there at the table where now Augusta was reading,...”
– Willa Cather. The Professor’s House.
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September 2011
9 posts
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“She entered the story knowing she would emerge from it feeling she had been...”
– Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient.
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Misquote.
I have always been of the opinion that once you set something to paper it is available in a way that makes the writer inescapably aware of the audience. While this is the intention of many writers – to have readers – many who keep personal journals, write poetry no one sees, or write letters they will eventually burn would protest. I understand this protest, sometimes I even believe that maybe I’m...
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You.
I address my letters to You.
You are sometimes one person or another, sometimes an idea, a shadow, a hope. Sometimes You are real. The best and worst thing about addressing my letters to You is that you don’t ever respond. Sometimes all I want is to hear Your goddamn voice.
You are replaced. Monthly, weekly, daily. But no matter what I always want to tell You the same thing. Sometimes I...
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“That is the central error of the literary imagination: the idea that other...”
– Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.
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We swam in the morning haze before we spoke or ate, wading in slowly to feel the water’s ripples and the hot sun. The tree by the shore, leaning, dipping its branches into the water and us navigating with our fingertips.
We smiled good morning and broke the silence only to wash and rinse, allowing the water to steal away the anxiety, dirt and sleep.
It’s easy to be shipwrecked here.
...
August 2011
5 posts
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Dreamscapes. →
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“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.”
– Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (@lovecanleavetheroom)
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Sustenance.
There’s something I love about idealistic characters.
Although in the novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote’s idealism is often at his own expense, and is constantly trying to be curbed by his companions, it is my favourite part about his character. I often excuse literary characters their extreme idealism because I admire the ability to hold on to such a child-like characteristic....
“A few people were there, and a couple of girls, the bowling-alley light, harsh...”
– Gilbert Sorrentino, Little Casino.
July 2011
2 posts
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“Twas not by ideas, - by heaven! his life was put in jeopardy by words.”
– Laurence Sterne, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman.