“A library is many things. It’s a place to go, to get in out of the rain. It’s a place to go if you want to sit and think. But particularly it is a place where books live, and where you can get in touch with other people, and other thoughts, through books. If you want to find out about something, the information is in the reference books — the dictionaries, the encyclopedias, the atlases. If you like to be told a story, the library is the place to go. Books hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together — just the two of you. A library is a good place to go when you feel unhappy, for there, in a book, you may find encouragement and comfort. A library is a good place to go when you feel bewildered or undecided, for there, in a book, you may have your question answered. Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people — people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book.”
A guaranteed way to make you more tired than usual on a Friday: remotely connect to the UK computer which shows GMT. I worked through the early hours of the morning and finished at 8am.
I want to say everything about Dave Eggers and quote everything at you but portraitnumberfive hasn’t read it but will, so all I can say is: read because it is brilliant and heart-breaking and funny and Eggers has captured so perfectly the thought processes of a twenty-something post-millenial
“I haven’t wanted to write on paper lately,
the canvas is always a mirror
and I’m not ready to look.
Things are much simpler
with a clear head and full stomach,
and it gets hard to handle.
I guess it’s an understanding
You were never the enemy
but the enemy was your own head.
I will forever make a home
out of that grey area,
not dying, not perfect,
somewhere in between.
He will learn
to love me this way.
I will learn
to love me this way.”
“The beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.”
“When a writer like Joyce or Eliot writes about an alienated man estranged from himself, he is read as a portrait of the diminished possibilities of human existence in modern society. When Rhys writes about an alienated woman estranged from herself, critics applaud her perceptive but narrow depiction of female experience and tend to narrow her vision even further by labelling it both pathological and autobiographical.”
“A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”
If I add water to you, it will be soup.
-Me to my leftover vegetables and rice.