Remembering Myself, Travestying Time…and Phonying towards Perfection



“I hated being caught”

I hated being caught, more than anything. I hated it. That was what school was all about, not being caught and watching others getting caught instead.

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha. Roddy Doyle.


“the vision of a coming calamity”

All these things, like the vision of a coming calamity, were compressed into a moment of consciousness. Nothing could be done to-day; everything must be deferred.

Felix Holt. George ELIOT.

“A freezing melancholy seized him”

A freezing melancholy seized him, and he shivered. It was as if he had caught sight of whole worlds of misery and despair — the charcoal stove beside the truckle-bed, the corpses at the morgue in their leather aprons, with the cold tap-water trickling over their hair.

Gustave FLAUBERT. Sentimental Education.

“even in the midst of the most intimate confidences”

For even in the midst of the most intimate confidences, false shame, delicacy, or pity always imposes some restraint. We come across precipices or quagmires in ourselves, or in the other person, which prevent pursuit; or we feel that we would not be understood; it is hard to define the obstacle exactly; but because of it, complete relationships are uncommon.

Sentimental Education. Gustave Flaubert.

“so our lives glide on”

So our lives glide on: the river ends we don’t know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.

Felix Holt. George ELIOT.

“living in a reality that was slipping away”

Thus they went on living in a reality that was slipping away, momentarily captured by words, but which would escape irremediably when they forgot the values of the written letters.

One Hundred Years of Solitude. Gabriel García Márquez.

“These bitter sorrows of childhood!”

These bitter sorrows of childhood! – when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.

The Mill on the Floss. GEORGE ELIOT.

“The tension of waiting for human approach”

The tension of waiting for human approach was cruel. He did not want to be approached. He did not want to hear voices. He was shocked by the sound of his own voice, if he inadvertently spoke to his cat. He rebuked himself for having broken the great silence.

“The Man Who Loved Islands”. D H LAWRENCE.

“I need to slaughter memory”

I need to slaughter memory,
Turn my living soul to stone
Then teach myself to live again.


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