Friday, 17 August 2012

And they’ll call out with a name by which I’d never call you, all things being well still feel it was not enough

Institute: What’s normally going through your mind when you’re up onstage?
Orlando: At the start I’m hoping that nothing breaks and then I’m hoping I don’t forget the lyrics. Quite often I’ll spot someone who seems to be having the best time or the worst time in the audience. Depending on how I’m feeling at the moment I’ll decide to concentrate on either or. But I try not to do that normally and not think at all.

Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

We live in time - it holds us and molds us - but I never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return. Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Stickle brick, tickle quick, laugh at the beautiful, it’s just a nod to the canon

Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them. The Idiot, Dostoevsky

Storm clouds began to form in his head and crisscrossed his mind like a restless angry ocean

And all the books you've read have been read by other people. And all the songs you've loved have been heard by other people. And that girl that's pretty to you is pretty to other people. and that if you looked at these facts when you were happy, you would feel great because you are describing 'unity'. Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being A Wallflower

Thursday, 2 August 2012

Setting fire to our insides for fun, to distract our hearts from ever missing them

All along–not only since she left, but for a decade before–I had been imagining her without listening, without knowing that she made as poor a window as I did. And so I could not imagine her as a person who could feel fear, who could feel isolated in a roomful of people, who could be shy about her record collection because it was too personal to share. Someone who might read travel books to escape having to live in the town that so many people escape to. Someone who–because no one thought she was a person–had no one to really talk to.
John Green, Paper Towns