Salma Deera
a small truth:you move me more in a moment thanthe earth moves in a year. — Salma Deera, Letters From Medea, (October 17, 2015)
Category: African Culture
Beryl Markham
There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the… Continue reading Beryl Markham
Abraham Verghese
Wasn’t that th+e definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted. — Abraham Verghese, Cutting of the Stone. (Vintage Books February 2009)
Wole Soyinka
Romance is the sweetening of the soulWith fragrance offered by the stricken heart. ― Wole Soyinka, Lion and the Jewel. [Lakunle] from “Morning.” (Oxford University Press; 1st edition 1962) First first performed in 1959
Dave Eggers
I will not wait to love as best as I can. We thought we were young and that there would be time to love well sometime in the future. This is a terrible way to think. It is no way to live, to wait to love. — Dave Eggers, What is the What. (McSweeney’s October 25,… Continue reading Dave Eggers
Joseph Conrad
We live in the flicker — may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. — Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness. (Blackwood’s Magazine 1899 serial; 1902 book) Originally published 1899.
H. Rider Haggard
Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten. ― H. Rider Haggard, She. (Oxford University Press, October 22, 1998) Originally published 1887.
Joseph Conrad
We live as we dream—alone…. — Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness. (Blackwood’s Magazine 1899 serial; 1902 book)
Joseph Conrad
Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violence–but more generally takes the form of apathy. ― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness. (Blackwood’s Magazine 1899 serial; 1902 book)
Joseph Conrad
Droll thing life is—that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself—that comes too late—a crop of unextinguishable regrets. I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine. It takes place in an impalpable grayness, with nothing… Continue reading Joseph Conrad
The Vale of Soul-Making 