She was breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the weight of beings, the insane or static life, the long anguish of living or dying. After so many years running from fear, fleeing crazily, uselessly, she was finally coming to a halt. At the same time she seemed to be recovering her roots, and the sap… Continue reading Albert Camus
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams. — W.B. Yeats, from “A Poet to His Beloved,” The Wind Among the Reeds. (Woodstock Books September 1994) Originally published December 1899.
I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when it’s hollow, when ceilings are harder and farther away. Then I can breathe, and can think while others are sleeping, in a way can stop time, can have it so – this has always been my dream – so that while… Continue reading Dave Eggers
Exercise First forget what time it is for an hour do it regularly every day then forget what day of the week it is do this regularly for a week then forget what country you are in and practice doing it in company for a week then do them together for a week with as… Continue reading W.S. Merwin
I believe that we are arks of the covenant and our true nature is not rage or deceit or terror or logic or craft or even sorrow. It is longing. —Cormac McCarthy, Whales and Men. Unpublished screenplay.
The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are bees that burned with sweetness or maddened the sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of the years doesn’t unweave: there is no net. They don’t fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river. Sleep… Continue reading Pablo Neruda