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.
“Drinking’s funny. When I look back on it, all of our important decisions have been figured out when we were drinking. Even when we talked about having to cut back on drinking, we’d be sitting at the kitchen table or out at the picnic table with a six-pack or whiskey.”
― Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
“We are, as a species, addicted to story. Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories.” ― Jonathan Gottschall, The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human
A cute bookmark (by mariyakey)
Stories can offer consolation for suffering and words to name our experience. Stories can tell us who we are and what are these hourglasses through which we sift, and suggest ways of imagining a future that, without calling for comfortable happy ending, may offer us ways of remaining alive, together, on this much-abused earth.
Two Women on Veranda Overlooking the Sea, Marcel Rieder