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“Whatever can be the meaning of this life? If we divide mankind into two large classes, we can say that one works for a living, the other has no need to. But working for one's living can't be the meaning of life; to suppose that constantly procuring the conditions of life should be the answer to the question of the meaning of what they make possible is a contradiction. Usually the lives of the other class have no meaning either, beyond that of consuming the said conditions. To say that the meaning of life is to die seems again to be a contradiction.”

- Either/Or, Kierkegaard

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i hate terfs

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The Mother looked at me for a moment. Then she said: ‘It must be great. Not to miss things. Not to long to get back to something. Not to be looking back all the time. Everything must be so much more...’ She paused, then said: ‘Okay, Klara. So you’re with us Sunday. But remember what I said. We don’t want accidents up there.’

-- Kara and the Sun, Kazuo Ishiguro

#kazuo ishiguro #klara and the sun #quotes #books #book quotes

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O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there. I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. And I have asked to be Where no storms come.

— Various poems, Gerard Manley Hopkins (as quoted by Joan Didion)

#joan didion #the year of magical thinking #gerard manley hopkins

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Water may be older than light, diamonds crack in hot goat’s blood, mountaintops give off cold fire, forests appear in mid-ocean, it may happen that a crab is caught with the shadow of a hand on its back, and that the wind be imprisoned in a bit of knotted string. And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.

-- The Shipping News, Annie Proulx

#Annie proulx #quotes #books

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The word “friendship” came to mind. But friendship, as defined by everyone, was alien, fallow stuff I cared nothing for. What I may have wanted instead, from the moment he stepped out of the cab to our farewell in Rome, was what all humans ask of one another, what makes life livable. It would have to come from him first. Then possibly me.

— Call Me By Your Name, André Aciman

#books #quotes #andré aciman #call me by your name

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It was on the twenty-eighth of July, which I believe was a Wednesday, that I visited my father for the first time during his illness and for the last time in his life. The moment I saw him I knew why I had put off this visit so long. I had told my mother that I did not want to see him because I hated him. But this was not true. It was only that I had hated him and I wanted to hold on to this hatred. I did not want to look on him as a ruin: it was not a ruin I had hated. I imagine that one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, that they will be forced to deal with pain.

— Notes of a Native Son, James Baldwin

#james baldwin #quotes #essays

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But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

— Total Eclipse, Annie Dillard

#annie dillard #essays #quotes

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All I could do during those years was talk long-distance to the boy I already knew I would never marry in the spring. I would stay in New York, I told him, just six months, and I could see the Brooklyn Bridge from my window. As it turned out the bridge was the Triborough, and I stayed eight years.

**

All I ever did to that apartment was hang fifty yards of yellow theatrical silk across the bedroom windows, because I had some idea that the gold light would make me feel better, but I did not bother to weight the curtains correctly and all that summer the long panels of transparent golden silk would blow out the windows and get tangled and drenched in afternoon thunderstorms. That was the year, my twenty-eight, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every word, all of it.

— Goodbye to All That, Joan Didion

#quotes #literature #essays #joan didion #nyc

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Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.

For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves In a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon. I said to the lily, "There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. I said to the rose, "The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,

For one that will never be thine? But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine." And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all; From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead, Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

— from Maud (Part I), Tennyson

#poetry #tennyson #english poetry

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The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

— One Art, Elizabeth Bishop

#poetry #elizabeth bishop

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‘Think of us,’ said Dawes to me last week, ‘the next time you are wakeful’--and now, as wakeful as she could wish me, I do. I think of all the women there, upon the dark wards of the prison; but where they should be silent, and still, they are restless and pacing their cells. They are looking for ropes to tie about their own throats. They are sharpening knives to cut their flesh with. Jane Jarvis, the prostitute, is calling to White, two floors below her; and Dawes is murmuring the queer verses of the wards. Now my mind has caught the words up--I think I shall recite them with her, all night long.

What sorts of grain best suit stiff soils?

What is that acid which dissolves silver?

What is relief, and how should shadows fall?

-- Affinity, Sarah Waters

#sarah waters #affinity #fiction #historical fiction #quotes #literature

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“Yes, how right you are.” The wind had disturbed Sachiko’s carefully combed hair. She passed her hand through it, then took a deep breath. “How right you are, Etsuko, we shouldn’t keep looking back to the past. The war destroyed many things for me, but I still have my daughter. As you say, we have to keep looking forward.”

“You know,” I said, “it’s only in the last few days I’ve really thought about what it’s going to be like. To have a child, I mean. I don’t feel nearly so afraid now. I’m going to look forward to it. I’m going to be optimistic from now on.”

“And so you should, Etsuko. After all, you have a lot to look forward to. In fact, you’ll discover soon enough, it’s being a mother that makes life truly worthwhile. What do I care if life is a little dull at my uncle’s house? All I want is what’s best for my daughter. We’ll get her the best private tuition and she’ll catch up on her schoolwork in no time. As you say, Etsuko, we must look forward to life.” 

**

For another minute or so, Sachiko continued with her packing. Then her hands became still, and she gazed across the room towards me, her face caught in that strange mixture of light.

“I suppose you think I’m a fool,” she said, quietly. “Don’t you, Etsuko?”

I looked back at her, a little surprised.

“I realize we may never see America,” she said. “And even if we did, I know how difficult things will be. Did you think I never knew that?”

I gave no reply, and we went on staring at each other.

“But what of it?” said Sachiko. “What difference does it make? Why shouldn’t I go to Kobe? After all, Etsuko, what do I have to lose? There’s nothing for me at my uncle’s house. Just a few empty rooms, that’s all. I could sit there in a room and grow old. Other than that there’ll be nothing. Just empty rooms, that’s all. You know that yourself, Etsuko.”

“But Mariko,” I said. “What about Mariko?”

“Mariko? She’ll manage well enough. She’ll just have to.” Sachiko continued to gaze at me through the dimness, one side of her face in shadow. Then she said: “Do you think I imagine for one moment that I’m a good mother to her?”

--A Pale View of Hills, Kazuo Ishiguro, pg 111-112, pg 170-171

#fiction #kazuo ishiguro #a pale view of hills #post-war #quotes #english literature

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Out Of a great need We are all holding hands And climbing. Not loving is a letting go. Listen, The terrain around here Is Far too Dangerous For That.

--A Great Need, Hafez

#poetry #hafez #Persian poetry

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My viewpoint, in telling the history of the United States, is different: that we must not accept the memory of states as our own. Nations are not communities and never have been. The history of any country, presented as the history of a family, conceals fierce conflicts of interest (sometimes exploding, most often repressed) between conquerors and conquered, masters and slaves, capitalists and workers, dominators and dominated in race and sex. And in such a world of conflict, a world of victims and executioners, it is the job of the thinking people, as Albert Camus suggested, not to be on the side of the executioners.

-- A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn

#history #u.s. history #howard zinn #a people's history of the united states #book quotes #books #non-fiction

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The last thing my father did for me Was map a way: he died, & so Made death possible. If he could do it, I Will also, someday, be so honored. Once,

At night, I walked through the lit streets Of New York, from the Gramercy Park Hotel Up Lexington & at that hour, alone, I stopped hearing traffic, voices, the racket

Of spring wind lifting a newspaper high Above the lights. The streets wet, And shining. No sounds. Once,

When I saw my son be born, I thought How loud this world must be to him, how final.

That night, out of respect for someone missing, I stopped listening to it.

Out of respect for someone missing, I have to say

This isn’t the whole story. The fact is, I was still in love. My father died, & I was still in love. I know It’s in bad taste to say it quite this way. Tell me, How would you say it?

The story goes: wanting to be alone & wanting The easy loneliness of travelers,

I said good-bye in an airport & flew west. It happened otherwise. And where I’d held her close to me, My skin felt raw, & flayed.

Descending, I looked down at light lacquering fields Of pale vines, & small towns, each With a water tower; then the shadows of wings; Then nothing.

My only advice is not to go away. Or, go away. Most

Of my decisions have been wrong.

When I wake, I lift cold water To my face. I close my eyes.

A body wishes to be held, & held, & what Can you do about that?

Because there are faces I might never see again, There are two things I want to remember About light, & what it does to us.

Her bright, green eyes at an airport—how they widened As if in disbelief; And my father opening the gate: a lit, & silent

City.

-- In the City of Light, Larry Levis

#poetry #american poetry #larry levis

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You were delighted. Your hair dripped onto your shoulders and your mouth was slightly open. Your face was flushed from the running and the rain. I thought you were lovely, and I smiled too, at the pleasure of it, and at the chance.

I had planned my afternoon. Chance had changed it. Is chance the snare or what breaks the snare?

We caught a train to the Louvre. You wanted to come up through the great glass pyramid. You said it was like being reborn. You said it made you feel like an Egyptian Princess, and for a moment I thought I knew you, by the waters at Karnak, and I caught the scent of your herb-anointed bandages, and the smell of your fear, as they carried you into the darkness from which there can be no return.

--The Powerbook, Jeanette Winterson

#quotes #books #book quotes #literature #english literature #jeanette winterson #the powerbook