“Imagine if time could be kind of suspended, rather than us be suspended in it.”
“God knows I never sought anything in you except yourself. I wanted simply you, nothing of yours.” – Heloise
Lately I have developed a growing interest in love stories…not passionate ones, it’s the dysfunctional, star-crossed loves stories that intrigue me; the centuries old tales that have been immortalized in sculptures and paintings, operas; yes, I am thinking of Heloise and Abelard, Francesca and Paolo, Tristan and Isolde. Over time these love stories have been reshaped for modern audiences, several years ago I saw Howard Breton’s In Extremis and was struck by the couple’s faith; their faith in philosophy, God and each other. Beneath the tragic love story, I saw the contradictions and character flaws. Each interpretation of their love is retold through someone else’s eyes. Read the rest of this entry »
I like it when somebody gets excited about something. – Holden, The Catcher in the Rye
When I was fifteen I borrowed Infinite Jest from my local library. I was attracted to mammoth sized books. The librarian suggested I borrow a Sweet Valley High book, it was the worst thing she could have said to a teenager. She questioned my maturity. Now I insisted on the David Foster Wallace book. The librarian held onto the book and my card; I could see her contemplating her next move. She studied my face; yes, I was the girl, who at eleven, insisted the head librarian order The Handmaid’s Tale. Although they forced my mother to check out the book for me, I won that battle. So she handed over Infinite Jest and I left the library.
For five months, there was nothing else. I read David Foster Wallace attentively even while exhausted. When it was over, I didn’t know what to feel, but I had acquired a deep appreciation for footnotes, without them it would have been impossible to understand the drugs described in his book. I knew what I read was special. Read the rest of this entry »
So I still haven’t managed to put my Ronan Farrow crush into words and that’s probably for the best, but here we are on the eve of Yeats’s birthday and he was my first crush. How could I not fall in love with his poetry? I wasn’t the only one who loved him; Yeats is considered a central figure in Irish literature.
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
– W.B. Yeats “When You Are Old”