Fear knocked at the door and faith answered. No one was there. — Anonymous. Found in an English pub after one of the many London bombings by Hitler during World War II.
One writes not to be read but to breathe…one writes to think, to pray, to analyze. One writes to clear one’s mind, to dissipate one’s fears, to face one’s doubts, to look at one’s mistakes–in order to retrieve them. One writes to capture and crystallize one’s joy, but also to disperse one’s gloom. Like prayer–you… Continue reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh
I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are… Continue reading Anthony Doerr
She had seen fear: the terrible helpless fear that rises up out of sadness and despair and is no longer attached to anything— the helpless fear that is tied only to nothingness. Not fear or anxiety or despair about a person or a situation, nothing, nothing, only the exposure, the vulnerability, being cast loose from… Continue reading Hans Keilson
That was one of the virtues of being a pessimist: nothing was ever as bad as you thought it would be. — James Jones, From Here to Eternity. (Gramercy April 2004) published 1951.
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Sometimes I wake up and lie still enough to hear a petal drop from the vase of flowers. Sometimes I lie awake and wish there was someone to hear my falling. ― Simon Van Booy, The Illusion of Separateness. (HarperCollins Publishers; 1st edition June 11, 2013)