It’s often pain tha makes us more aware of self.
No person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us.
I knew then, and know now, virtually nothing.
It was because I thought too much, lived too much in the mind.
He, in some senses, was the author of this drama and had waited in the wings a long while for this moment, where he could step onto the stage and assume the role he’d written for himself: cool but friendly; hesitant; reticent with details; bright, but not as bright as he actually was.
Beauty is harch.
Nihil sub sole novum.
I have come to realize that while for years I might have imagined myself to be somewhere else, in reality I have been there all the time:.
These were good people, common people; the salt of the earth people; people whom i should count myself fortunate to know.
In the first week of April the weather turned suddenly, unseasonably, insistently lovely. The sky was blue, the air warm and windless, and the sun beamed on the muddy ground with all the sweet impatience of June. Toward the fringe of the wood, the young trees were yellow with the first tinge of new leaves; woodpeckers laughed and drummed in the copses and, lying in bed with my window open, I could hear the rush and gurgle of the melted snow running in the gutters all night long.
I could feel my heart beating, hear the clicks and ticks and hisses of the large elderly building slumbering around me. Everyone was asleep. Even the distant horn-honks and the occasional rattle of trucks out on Fifty-Seventh Street seemed faint and uncertain, as lonely as a noise from another planet.
It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone.
Objects in the apartment wobbled with my fatigue: halos shimmered around the table lamp; the stripe of the wallpaper seemed to vibrate.
In a certain sense it was simply play-acting but at Hampden, where creative expression was valued above all else, play-acting was itself a kind of work, and people went about their grief as seriously as small children will sometimes play quite grimly and without pleasure in make-believe offices and stores.
Butthole,” he sobbed.
Very softly – so softly I could barely hear her – I heard the girl whisper: “It had to live its whole life like that?” I’d been wondering the same thing;.
Psychology is a terrible a word.
From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it’s a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what’s right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: “Be yourself.” “Follow your heart.
To me, the hallmark of the modern mind is that it loves to wander from its subject.
All summer long I had been practically delirious: tingling, daffy, energized, running on gin and shrimp cocktail and the invigorating whock of tennis balls.