Beware thoughts that come in the night. They aren’t turned properly; they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, deriving from the most remote of sources. ― William Least Heat-Moon, Blue Highways. (Back Bay Books; 1st Back Bay pbk. ed edition, October 19, 1999) Advertisements
We don’t forget, but something vacant settles in us. — Roland Barthes, Mourning Diary. (Hill and Wang; First Edition edition, October 12, 2010)
Carrying a day is like carrying a mountain, those endless small words men use to guard their helplessness. Put your day down. Come to the bank in the snow wearing grace and pain, the silence at the end of sentences. Breathe the snow and the sad odor of human dust. All the roads are inside… Continue reading Terrance Keena
I eat my heart out alone. — Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran. (Random House; Reprint edition, December 30, 2003)
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen.… Continue reading Ernest Hemingway
The world is full of places. Why is it that I am here? — Wendell Berry, The Long-Legged House: Essays (Counterpoint, 2012)
There is within me a thing that is aching, aching, aching always as the days pass. — Mary MacLane, I Await The Devil’s Coming. (Melville House; Reprint edition, March 19, 2013) Originally published April 26th 1902.
