I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then men create out of the chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.
All the literati keep at least one imaginary friend.
Voices in the forest tell of dark and twisted enchantments - as dark and twisted as the roots and grasping branches of the trees themselves. Even the most gnarled tree is eloquent in the telling of its own tale.
Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.
Books of 2012: The Famished Road (Okri)
Thoughts in 10 words or less: Magical realism at its finest, post-colonial literature at its strongest.
my book, my good friend (by Tran Phuong Thanh)
One of the three Murakami vending machines you can find at train stations in Poland.
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage hits U.S. bookstores (not vending machines, sadly) on 8/12/14!
Jane Austen read her own reviews, and took scrupulous notes: “Austen appears to have compiled the reactions of her readers from letters, hearsay, and direct conversations and recorded them on a set of closely written pages around 1815, before her death at the age of forty-one, two years later.”
For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.
Graham Greene, Orient Express