I think he knew what he would do,
what he would have to do,
and he was mourning us.
He was mourning us the whole time. ❞
Emma Forrest, from Your Voice in My Head
Jonathan Gottschall, The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human (via mslny)
“Hardly remembered me?”
“I mean: how shall I explain it? I — it’s always so. Each time you happen to me all over again. ❞
Edith Wharton, “The Age of Innocence” (via fuckingcamilla)
‘And I believe Aristotle is correct. After all, what are the scenes in poetry graven on our memories, the ones that we love the most? Precisely these. The murder of Agamemnon and the wrath of Achilles. Dido on the funeral pyre. The daggers of the traitors and Caesar’s blood-remember how Suetonius describes his body being borne away on the litter, with one arm hanging down?’
‘Death is the mother of beauty,’ said Henry.
‘And what is beauty?’
‘Well said,’ said Julian. ‘Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.’
I looked at Camilla, her face bright in the sun, and though of that line from the Iliad I love so much, about Pallas Athene and the terrible eyes shining.
‘And if beauty is terror,’ said Julian, ‘then what is desire? We think we have many desires, but in fact we have only one. What is it?’
‘To live,’ said Camilla.
‘To live forever,’ said Bunny, chin cupped in palm.
The teakettle began to whistle. ❞
Donna Tartt, “The Secret History” (via mirroir)
Denis Johnson, from Out On Bail
Haruki Murakami, “Norwegian Wood” (via bokura)
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via nisanugoo)
“That year, a middle-aged acquaintance asked me what my favorite book was and I said, ‘On The Road.’ He smiled, said, ‘That was my favorite book when I was sixteen.’ At the time, I thought he was patronizing me, that it was going to be my favorite book forever and ever, amen. But he was right. As an adult, I’m more of a Gatsby girl—more tragic, more sad, just as interested in what America costs as what it has to offer.”
— Sarah Vowell