February 2012
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“That is why the better part of our memory exists outside ourselves, in a blatter of rain, in the smell of an unaired room or of the first crackling brushwood fire in a cold grate: wherever, in short, we happen upon what our mind, having no use for it, had rejected, the last treasure that the past has in store, the richest, that which when all our flow of tears seems to have dried at the source...
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There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.
George Bernard Shaw
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“I apologize to everything That I can not be everywhere. I apologize to everyone That I can not be every man and woman. That I know as long as I live nothing can justify me, Because I myself am an obstacle to myself. Take it not amiss, O speech, That I borrow weighty words, and later try hard to make Them seem light. ”
“Under a Certain Little Star”, Wisława Szymborska
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I’d have to be really quick to describe clouds— a split second’s enough … for them to start being something else.
Their trademark: they don’t repeat a single shape, shade, pose, arrangement.
Unburdened by memory of any kind, they float easily over the facts.
What on earth could they bear witness to? They scatter whenever something happens.
Compared to clouds, life rests on solid...
January 2012
70 posts
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We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
William Butler Yeats
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“Never did I speak with her either about love or about death
only blind taste and mute touch used to run between us when absorbed in ourselves we lay close”
From Silk of a Soul, Zbigniew Herbert
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