"Why do you start every sentence with a 'No'?" asked my venerable uncle.
"No idea"
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For a while it's as if there's been an extended summer, a late flaring of sun keeping or weaving last season's warmth deep into this one. It feels as though we've lost days, weeks, months. The sun has finally relented and become more gentle and more moderate in its outlook; it's as if it has decided to take of his outer coat and finally sit down. Which means that I can walk out of the shadows and not shield my face. The turning, and the old sun is on my back...
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"Do you like the past?", Hart Crane was asked. That was the last thing anyone said to him, or the last recorded thing said to him. He smiled or frowned and walked away. It was that simple. After that it's a blank, pure negation, a stepping into the shadows, the sidelines. I want to be nobody, I am nobody. What to say?
There are two types of people, and each one is divided: those who accept the past and those who don't or can't.
Breece wrote one book and then died. Read what you will into that.
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While ironing a t-shirt and trying to get rid of the toothpaste marks you see a pamphlet lying on the ironing board: 'How to be a Success'. The first lines, from memory: 'There is the call to prayer. The Muslim gets up to pray; the non-Muslim does not. Are they the same?'. Quickly close the book. My heart's not in it. The stain is not easily removed.
Religion, even in its most benign form, has become a practice for the accountants nowadays. Tot up all the good on one side of the ledger and pray to God it outweighs the negative deeds.
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There is no time for lies, no time for the truth. Time is carried over. Put the book in a cellar, cancel it, abandon the projects and stop reading for forty years.."I can't be bothered with writing". (Elizabeth Harrower). "No" and "Yes" in my true love's eyes, she thought. The book of life is not a book, but a tree before the word, image or sound. I find myself lost again, he thought.
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Tony Judt on Hobsbawm:
"No idea"
|||
For a while it's as if there's been an extended summer, a late flaring of sun keeping or weaving last season's warmth deep into this one. It feels as though we've lost days, weeks, months. The sun has finally relented and become more gentle and more moderate in its outlook; it's as if it has decided to take of his outer coat and finally sit down. Which means that I can walk out of the shadows and not shield my face. The turning, and the old sun is on my back...
||
"Do you like the past?", Hart Crane was asked. That was the last thing anyone said to him, or the last recorded thing said to him. He smiled or frowned and walked away. It was that simple. After that it's a blank, pure negation, a stepping into the shadows, the sidelines. I want to be nobody, I am nobody. What to say?
There are two types of people, and each one is divided: those who accept the past and those who don't or can't.
Breece wrote one book and then died. Read what you will into that.
|
While ironing a t-shirt and trying to get rid of the toothpaste marks you see a pamphlet lying on the ironing board: 'How to be a Success'. The first lines, from memory: 'There is the call to prayer. The Muslim gets up to pray; the non-Muslim does not. Are they the same?'. Quickly close the book. My heart's not in it. The stain is not easily removed.
Religion, even in its most benign form, has become a practice for the accountants nowadays. Tot up all the good on one side of the ledger and pray to God it outweighs the negative deeds.
||
There is no time for lies, no time for the truth. Time is carried over. Put the book in a cellar, cancel it, abandon the projects and stop reading for forty years.."I can't be bothered with writing". (Elizabeth Harrower). "No" and "Yes" in my true love's eyes, she thought. The book of life is not a book, but a tree before the word, image or sound. I find myself lost again, he thought.
||| |
Tony Judt on Hobsbawm:
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