What I like         I like the reliability of the secretary's candy bowl. I like eyeing femmes jamming to the radio at red lights and playing a song three times in a row for the euphoric rush. I like silky ear lobes and dreaming about the president drowning in jeans...

          My life is a grey thread, A thin grey stretched out thread, And when I trace its course, I moan: How dull! How dead! But I have gay beads. A pale one to begin, A blue one for my painted dreams, And one for sin, Gold with coiled marks, Like a snake's skin. For love an odd bead With a deep purple glow; A green bead for a secret thing That few shall know; And yellow for my thoughts That melt like snow...

  Love After Love         The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self...

  The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock       A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo...

I dagens ensomhedslektion skal vi først se på et gammelt kinesisk ordsprog. Mennesker der grundlæggende er usamlede er mest interessante (at være i selskab med) når de er samlede. Mennesker der grundlæggende er samlede er blevet sådan ved at blive smeltet sammen af kærlighedens ild af deres forældre igennem hele deres opvækst...

        One of the common reactions to shock is lethargy. If, after an automobile accident, one man is howling and writhing and another sits quietly staring into space, it is usually the quiet man who is badly hurt. A community can go into shock too...

      Requiescat   Tread lightly, she is near   Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear   The daisies grow.   All her bright golden hair   Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair   Fallen to dust.   Lily-like, white as snow,   She hardly knew She was a woman, so   Sweetly she grew...

      You can't construct clouds. And that is why the future you dream of never comes true.   What is pretty cannot be beautiful...

        For some reason you have googled the movie "You, me and Dupree" and I'll tell you what…   Musings over "You, me and Dupree"   David Bowie mentioned several times that he was afraid of americans. I'm not afraid of them, one of my best friends is american, I cherish his american-ness of that man, but I think their thinking about money and freedom is old fashioned and therefore boooring. To do a thing like actually watching the entire 100 minutes of "You, me and Dupree" is a perversion...

      Wandering Clouds   Wandering clouds have fastened themselves to the mountain's edge,   for endless hours they stand in silence and wait:   if a chivvying wind wants to strew them over the plain   they should rise with the sun over the snow of the summits.   Wandering clouds have set themselves in the way of the sun,   the mourning pennants of everyday hang so heavily,   down in the valley life walks with dragging feet,   the sounds of a grand piano sing from open windows.   Strip upon strip is the valley's motley carpet,   firm as sugar is the heights' eternal snow…   The winter steps softly down into the valley...

        Kindness   Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever...

      poem I wrote sitting across the table from you   if I had two nickels to rub together I would rub them together like a kid rubs sticks together until friction made combustion and they burned a hole in my pocket into which I would put my hand and then my arm and eventually my whole self–– I would fold myself into the hole in my pocket and disappear into the pocket of myself, or at least my pants but before I did like some ancient star I'd grab your hand       (Kevin Varrone)...

      October 11   My Silent Confidant:   I am at the end of my rope. I am nauseated by life; it is insipid-without salt and meaning. If I were hungrier than Pierrot, I would not choose to eat the explanation people offer...

          Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving yourself.   MS 120 283: 7. 4...

      Listen           I threw a snowball across the backyard.   My dog ran after it to bring it back.   It broke as it fell, scattering snow over snow...

  Courage         It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk...

      The Colours' Longing         For my own paleness' sake I love red, blue and yellow, the great whiteness is cheerless as the snowy twilight when Snow-White's mother sat at the window and wished herself black and red as well. The colours' longing is the blood's. If you thirst after beauty you must close your eyes and look into your own heart...

To put an end to these sufferings, if possible, I encouraged him to venture the utmost with vigor. Everything depended upon finding a point of unity. I then made the following proposal...

He said, "I'm surprised they don't lock you up-a reasonable man. It's one of the symptoms of our time to find danger in men like you who don't worry and rush about. Particularly dangerous are men who don't think the world's coming to an end...

        In New Monterey, Hazel walked, not around, but right through a dog fight. All the preceding manifestations would have troubled his friends, but if they had known what Hazel was thinking they would have been horrified. Thinking is always painful, but in Hazel it was heroic...

It may appear strange, but now, when we were in the very jaws of the golf, I felt more composed then when we were only approaching it. Having made up my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of that terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my nerves (Edgar Allan Poe) ...

1. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. 2...

I recently said to Arvid, after I had been watching a very old film with him in the cinema: A modern film is to an old one as a present-day motor car is to one built 25 years ago. The impression it makes is just as ridiculous and clumsy & the way film-making has improved is comparable to the sort of technical improvement we see in cars. It is not to be compared with the improvement--if it's right to call it that--of an artistic style...

          Doc thought he was alone in his discontent, but he was not. Everyone on the Row observed him and worried about him. Mack and the boys worried about him...

One day Lee Chong sold out and bought a schooner. He wanted to go trading in the South Seas. He dreamed of palms and Polynesians...

          When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate;   For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.   1.   Rufus' pearl of a sonnet interpretation...

          [This little book] seeks that single individual whom I with joy and gratitude call my reader, or it does not even seek him. Unaware of the time and the hour, it quietly waits for that right reader to come like the bridegroom and to bring the occasion along with him. Let each do a share-the reader therefore more...

          We often hear of the holy trinity of the modern novel: Proust, Joyce, Kafka. In my view, that trinity does not exist. In my own personal history of the novel, it is Kafka who provided this new orientation: a post-Proustian orientation...

          I try to give a name to that attitude. I choose the word "tenderness. " And I examine the word: Just what is tenderness? I arrive at successive answers: "Tenderness comes into being at the moment when life propels a man to the threshold of adulthood...

        A. What, then, is the motor of war if not Helen or country? Sheer force that wills to assert itself as force? The "will to will" that Heidegger later wrote about?     B. (...

10 Quotes Paradoxically though it may seem, it is none the less true that life imitates art far more than art imitates life. Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. Every woman is a rebel...

          It is her terrible dread which has finally given her courage.       (Lagerlöf)...

  The day cools towards evening… Drink the warmth out of my hand, my hand has the same blood as the springtime. Take my hand, take my white arm, take the longing of my narrow shoulders … It would be strange to feel, one single night, a night like this, your heavy head against my breast. (Södergran)...

  I saw a tree…         I saw a tree that was greater than all others and hung full of cones out of reach; I saw a tall church with open door and all who came out were pale and strong and ready to die; I saw a woman who smiling and rouged threw dice for her luck and saw she had lost. A circle was drawn around these things that no one crosses over.   The day cools     (Södergran)...

          In Christianity it is as though God said to human beings: Don't act a tragedy, that is to say, don't enact heaven & hell on earth, heaven & hell are my affair.   19. 8...

          Selfishness must always be forgiven, as there is no hope for a cure.       (Austen)...