It is true when you are by yourself and you think about life, it is always sad. All that excitement and so on has a way of suddenly leaving you, and it’s as though, in the silence, somebody called your name, and you heard your name for the first time. — Katherine Mansfield, from “At… Continue reading Katherine Mansfield
Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time. — Jorge Luis Borges, from “The Threatened”, The Book of Sand [El Libro de arena] (1975)
I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while. — Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. (Knopf; First Edition edition August 29, 2006)
I’m full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry. — Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories. (Scribner; Classic edition, July 6, 1999) Originally published 1938.
Tell me what is there, what is there about you that so satisfies me when I touch you? — Mina Loy, from “Pazzarella,” Stories and Essays of Mina Loy (Dalkey Archive Press, 2011)
The mind can’t sleep, can only lie awake and gorge, listening to the snow gather as for some final assault. It wishes Chekhov were here to minister something – three drops of valerian, a glass of rose water – anything, it wouldn’t matter. The mind would like to get out of here onto the snow.… Continue reading Raymond Carver
Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing, the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting. ― Jorge Luis Borges, A Personal Anthology. (Grove Press, January 14, 1994) Originally published 1961.