W. N. P. Barbellion, The Journal of a Disappointed Man
49/365 (by mariyakey)
Letter to Tolstoy
By Tyler Myers
Yazan: Tyler Myers
Fi tarihte, ben de bir mektup yazmıştım Tolstoy’a.
Kime gönderdim bilmiyorum. Geçmiş zaman.
Short Stories of Anton Tchekov
“And perhaps it didn’t matter to them, not always, what they read aloud; it was the breath of life flowing between them, and the words of the moment riding on it that held them in delight. Between some two people every word is beautiful, or might as well be beautiful.”
― Eudora Welty, The Optimist’s Daughter
Reading afforded me traditional escapism, of course–anybody who read my post about growing up in a racist household can probably gather that a healthy dose of escapism saved my sanity on numerous occasions. Looking back, though, I can see that it was much more than situational escapism. Reading (and, to a lesser extent, writing and music) let me draw the curtains closed around me and burrow deep into myself, the only place that I often truly feel comfortable. The only place I really feel like me.