What’s more delightful than an evening beside the fire with a nice bright lamp and a book, listening to the wind beating against the windows? I’m absolutely removed from the world at such times. The hours go by without my knowing it. Sitting there I’m wandering in countries I can see every detail of — I’m playing a role in the story I’m reading. I actually feel I’m the characters — I live and breathe with them.
Tibet; the peak of Everest looms over trekker at base camp at dawn ©Douglas MacRae
via Douglas MacRae.
You have your wonderful memories,” people said later, as if memories were solace. Memories are not. Memories are by definition of times past, things gone. Memories are the Westlake uniforms in the closet, the faded and cracked photographs, the invitations to the weddings of the people who are no longer married, the mass cards from funerals of the people whose faces you no longer remember. Memories are what you no longer want to remember.
— Excerpt from Joan Didion’s “Blue Nights.” Her writing is so beautiful. (via musiclovingchick)
I heard myself overstressing this, fighting to regain balance, avert the fall.
— Joan Didion ~The Year of Magical Thinking
Without our interaction, I knew neither of us would be here.
— Erin McKittrick ~A Long Trek Home
The enormous expanse of land evokes a powerful feeling of liberation. We spend an inordinate amount of time indoors, and the physical confinement limits the metaphorical bubble of our aspirations. Large rooms, like the vaulted interior of a church, are uplifting. Outdoors, we are free to reach for the sky.
— David Miller ~AWOL on the Adirondack Trail
Everything on earth is being constantly transformed, because the earth is alive… and it has a soul. We are part of that soul, so we rarely recognize that it is working for us.
— Paulo Coelho ~The Alchemist
Jarle Bernhoft | C’mon Talk
Study tunes. Distracting, but worth it for the loopage.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.