Read ... No Need To Think ... They Explain Themself.
Posted: Fri May 02, 2014 11:21 am
"Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star. It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything."
— Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
"The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back."
— Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
"The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return."
— Milan Kundera, Ignorance
"All the while only in the process of learning life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane."
— Thomas Pynchon, V.
"In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream—an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos."
— Edgar Allan Poe, “Ligeia”
"But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."
— Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum
"there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than
too late."
— Charles Bukowski, “oh, yes”
From War All the Time
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.
You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.
She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here."
— Neil Gaiman, “The Girls”
From Fragile Things
"For the philosopher is right who says that nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy…"
— Virginia Woolf, Orlando
"What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again."
— Anaïs Nin, Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin
— Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
"The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back."
— Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
"The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return."
— Milan Kundera, Ignorance
"All the while only in the process of learning life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane."
— Thomas Pynchon, V.
"In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream—an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos."
— Edgar Allan Poe, “Ligeia”
"But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."
— Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum
"there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than
too late."
— Charles Bukowski, “oh, yes”
From War All the Time
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.
You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.
She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here."
— Neil Gaiman, “The Girls”
From Fragile Things
"For the philosopher is right who says that nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy…"
— Virginia Woolf, Orlando
"What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again."
— Anaïs Nin, Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin