Time interval is a strange and contradictory matter in the mind. It would be reasonable to suppose that a routine time or an eventless time would seem interminable. It should be so, but it is not. It is the dull eventless times that have no duration whatever. A time splashed with interest, wounded with tragedy,… Continue reading John Steinbeck
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. ― John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men. (Penguin; Reprint edition January 8, 2002) Originally published 1937.
Time interval is a strange and contradictory matter in the mind. It would be reasonable to suppose that a routine time or an eventless time would seem interminable. It should be so, but it is not. It is the dull eventless times that have no duration whatever. A time splashed with interest, wounded with tragedy,… Continue reading John Steinbeck
When you find what matters is what you feelIt arrives, and it disappears — Jay Farrar, song lyric from “Ten Second News,” Trace LP by Son Volt (Warner Bros., 1995)
The beauty of things must be that they end. — Jack Kerouac, Tristessa. (Penguin Books June 1, 1992) Originally published 1960.
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. — John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men (Covici Friede, 1937)
It is so much simpler to bury reality than it is to dispose of dreams. ― Don DeLillo, Americana (ACTES SUD; 0 edition, August 10, 1993)
Relationship Time to Aloneness. And I remember about that. Having a companion fixes you in time and that the present, but when the quality of aloneness settles down, past, present, and future all flow together. A memory, a present event, and a forecast all equally present. ― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of… Continue reading John Steinbeck
Love, that is the pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang […] No other theme but love—knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. — Walt Whitman, from “The Mystic Trumpeter”, Leaves of Grass (Simon Schuster, August 1st 2006) Originally published July 4th 1855.
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,Night, sleep, death and the stars. — Walt Whitman, “A Clear Midnight,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855.
The Vale of Soul-Making 