…and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs.
— Franz Kafka
#pleaseremoveyourgloves #sign #bookshop #books #novel #londonlife (at Chiswick High Street)
Joyce Carol Oates, The Collector of Hearts
Love does not always have to be this mountain top experience, but it does need to be as constant as a mountain; never moving, always steady and willing to stay.
Our imagination flies - we are its shadow on the earth.
I often try to cure melancholy by buying new books. While I won’t necessarily feel better, though I will have a new book.
I love David Mitchell’s writing and I love the cover of this book.
Short Story Number One Thousand Five Hundred and Eighteen
Today was a day where we read our books and sat on the grass and let the sun fall over us. It was a simple day, where nothing went wrong, and where everything stayed the same.
He remembered the bitterness of his life at school, the humiliation which he had endured, the banter which had made him morbidly afraid of making himself ridiculous; and he remembered the loneliness he had felt since, faced with the world, the disillusion and the disappointment caused by the difference between what it promised and what it gave. But notwithstanding he was able to look at himself from the outside and smile with amusement.