Thursday, September 08, 2005

She studied him for a while, almost envying his complete disregard for anyone but himself. He had no talent, no ambition and no pride, yet he looked so happy lying there with that slight smile on his lips.
—Agnes Owens, from When Shankland Comes

Sunday, July 10, 2005

"In the end, prehaps we should simply imagine a joke; a long joke thats continually retold in an accent too thick and strange to ever be completely understood. Life is that joke my friends. The soul is the punch line."

Villa Incognito by Tom Robbins

Monday, May 09, 2005

"He stands there waiting, and when nobody makes a move to say anything to him he commences to laugh. Nobody can tell exactly why he laughs; there's nothing funny going on. But it's not the way that Public Relation laughs, it's free and loud and it comes out of his wide grinning mouth and spreads in rings bigger and bigger until it's lapping against the walls all over the ward. Not like that fat Public Relation laugh. This sounds real. I realize all of a sudden it's the first laugh I've heard in years." -One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

Friday, April 22, 2005

"You cannot die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death."
- A Stroke of Midnight by Laurell K. Hamilton

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

"...there's nothing worse than a muddle in all the world. It is easy to face Death and Fate, and things that sound so dreadful. It is on my muddles that I look back with horror--on the things I might have avoided. We can help one another but little. I used to think I could teach people the whole of life, but I know better now, and all my teaching...has come down to this: beware of muddle."
--A Room with a View E.M. Forster

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

"Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends and integrity. And your keeping them in the air. But one day you finally come to the understanding that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls- family, health, friends and integrity- are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lessons of the five balls, you have the beginnings of balance in your life." -From Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson
"When I look back at my life and compare it to what I had imagined it would be, it has been a strenouous journey along a mountainous path with breathtaking views. I was taught to look toward heaven to find God, but I searched my own heart and found light, joy and God's breath of truth inside me. I believe in the connectedness of us all with our own luminosity humming a story of truth and love in the space between the stars. What glows, even in the dark, is the power of Divine Presence." -Space Between the Stars By Deborah Santana

Friday, March 25, 2005

"Look what can happen in this country, they’d say. A girl lives in some out-of-the-way town for nineteen years, so poor she can’t afford a magazine, and then she gets a scholarship to college and wins a prize here and a prize there and ends up steering New York like her own private car. Only I wasn’t steering anything, not even myself. I just bumped from my hotel to work and to parties and from parties to my hotel and back to work like a numb trolleybus. I guess I should have been excited the way most of the other girls were, but I couldn’t get myself to react. I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." - The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath)
"The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. . . . Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you." - Holden in Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger.)
"... For this in the end is what we have. The love of something... There is much to love, and that love is what we are left with... We can never let the world take our memories of love away, and if there are no memories, we must invent love all over again... The wheel turns. Blue above, green below, we wander a long way, but love is what the cup of our soul contains when we leave the world and the flesh."
-Louise Murphy, The True Story of Hansel and Gretel A Novel of War and Survival

Friday, March 18, 2005

"....I remember the day he smiled at me and said, 'Do you know what a poem is, Esther?''No, what?' I said.'A piece of dust.' And he looked so proud of having thought of this that I just stared at his blond hair and his blue eyes and his white teeth - he had very long, strong white teeth - and said 'I guess so.'It was only in the middle of New York a whole year later that I finally thought of an answer to that remark. I spent a lot of time having imaginary conversations with Buddy Willard. He was a couple of years older than I was and very scientific, so he could always prove things. When I was with him I had to work to keep my head above water. These conversations I had in my mind usually repeated the beginnings of conversations I'd really had with Buddy, only they finished with me answering him back sharply, instead of just sitting around and saying 'I guess so'.Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, 'Do you know what a poem is, Esther?''No, what?' I would say.'A piece of dust."Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, 'So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.'And of course Buddy wouldn't have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn't see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick or couldn't sleep.My trouble was I took everythinbg Buddy Willard told me as the honest-to-god truth....."-The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use— silence, exile and cunning. -A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Sally Owens: Sometimes I feel there is a hole inside me... An emptiness that, at times, seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. And the moon tonight: there's a circle around it --- a sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole... Of not going to sleep each night wanting, but still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don't know... Maybe I've had my happiness. I don't want to believe it, but there is no man... Only that moon.

-Dreaming of Lovewritten by Robin Swicord, Akiva Goldsman, & Adam Brooks, from the novel by Alice Hoffman

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

"The best kind of love, it's not always an easy road. Because life will throw you curve balls. People change, people grow and sad things happen sometimes. I think that the greatest loves are those that have overcome obstacles because they have withstood those things that life can throw at them." -The Notebook By Nicholas Sparks

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Diary By Chuck Palahniuk
Just for the record, knowing when people are only pretending to like you isn't such a great skill to have.
You writting, you walking down a street, your whole life shows in every physical action. How you hold your shoulders, Angel says. It's all an art. What you do with your hands, you're always blabbing your life story.
Who knows where an idea comes from. Our insparation. Why do we imagine what we imagine.
"What I mean is sometimes, for an artist, chronic pain can be a gift."
Your handwritting . The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It's all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self-portrait.
Its funny the way your mind tries to make sense of chaos.
The truth is, wherever you choose to be, it's the wrong place.
"We all die." She says, " The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will".
It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to rember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We must learn so little from peace.
What they don't teach you in art school is how your whole life is about discovering who you already were.
What the don't teach you in art school. How you're still always trapped.
People killed in a fire, people in long-term vegetative state, they all end up posed about the same. The same as a baby waiting to be born.
Wonder When you'll Miss me- By Amanda Davis
It was like I'd left behind something at Berrybrook besides the forty-eight pounds and seven months. Some invisable part of my brain forgotten on a shelf somewhere, some key ingredient to navigating the world abandoned in that stupid Tudor buliding on that stupid green hill. I didn't even know how to look for what was gone, how to recognize it if I found it. How to ask for help.
But I didn't want to be better than anyone. I just wanted to be me. And, yes, I wanted to show up, to be noticed. But inside some of me still wanted desperately to disappear. Of course that's what had gotten me to Beryybrook in the first place: trying to disappear.
Then each morning I woke up to the blinding Berrybrook sunlight and thought I was a little girl in my bed at home again, that my father would come and wake me at any minute. And then, slowly, I blinked awake to the ceiling tiles and the scrffed wood floor, the chrome-rimmerd bed and the hum of the room, and relized that I'd grown up.
But it was just one more thing. One more way the days would form and even at the bottom of everything I was, I just didn't care that much right then. It was all about one more day and just for now and every other cliche in the world. It was all about waking and eating and running and sleeping. And it was about getting through to the next day, all of it even, nobody hurt. Me alive, though I still wasn't sure i wanted to be.
"Careful." She gave a snort. "Jesus. You're so careful that you're a danger to yourself..."
When he says, "I love you, honey," you realize that he never calls you by your name. You will say good-bye for all the right reasons. You're tired of living in wait for his apocalypse. You have your own fight on your hands, and though it's no bigger or more noble than his, it will rewuire all of your energy. It's you who has to hold on to the earth. You have to tighten your grip- which means letting go of him.

-The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank
Before dinner, my grandmother read the newspaper, tsk-tsking and complaining to no one in particular that the world was going to hell. Everything was wrong; nothing was the way it used to be."What do you think was so good about the good old days?" I asked in exasperation. But I heard how harsh my voice was and didn't like it. I said, "What do you miss, I mean?"While she thought, I waite to make my point: that everything was much better now than it used to be; I'd cite the civil rights and women's movements."The boy who lit the street lamps in the evening," she said, finally. "HE carried a stool with him."I understood then-- it was like missing Nantucket-- and I put my hand on top of hers. It occure dto me that everything was more complicated than I thought. - The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank

Sunday, January 16, 2005

"To die, to sleep - to sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause; there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life"
-- 'Hamlet' Shakespeare

Friday, January 07, 2005

She say, Celie, tell the truth, have you ever found God in church? I never did. I just found a bunch of folks hoping for him to show. Any God I ever felt in church I brought in with me. And I think all the other folks did too. They come to church to share God, not find God.--Alice Walker, The Color Purple
"There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough."-Nicholas Sparks, "The Notebook"