P 5 Quotes

“philosophy is the discipline that involves creating concepts” .”
― Gilles Deleuze, What Is Philosophy?

“And suddenly...it made a kind of emotional sense that caused me to feel, instantly, how little sense my earlier...assumptions had made...And with that thought it was as though my father stepped forward to meet me as he had been in 1940: twenty-five years old, newly married, teaching literature and history and religion as his first real job, as an assistant professor at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota.

That stage of his life – and he in it – had always been indistinct to me, as the lives of parents before their children exist always are to those children; but now, holding this letter in my hands, I remembered anew and vividly the numerous photographs in our family albums of him then – a slender young man, intense-looking and handsome, with a shock of dark hair swept back from his high forehead. A radical young man, it would seem. More radical in many ways than my own son was now. A young man, ready, perhaps even eager to embrace the fate his powerful beliefs were calling him to. Sitting there, I felt a rush of love and pity for him in his youth, in his passionate convictions...”
― Sue Miller, The Story of My Father

“I remember the foreigners from the other side of the world, sailing up the Tiber into a country they knew nothing of: their envoy came to my father's house, explained that he was a Trojan, and made polite speeches in fluent Latin. Now how can that be? Do we all know all the languages? That can be true only of the dead, whose land lies under all the other lands. How is it that you understand me, who lived twenty-five or thirty years ago? Do you know Latin?

But then I think no, it has nothing to do with being dead, it;s not death that allows us to understand one another, but poetry.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, Lavinia

“Because paper is a thing,” I say, “and sometimes you need things rather than just thoughts.”
― Brian Conaghan, The Weight of a Thousand Feathers

“A bouquet of hawthorn butterflies skipped and danced in the air like a handful of pale flowers thrown to the wind.”
― Cecilia Ekbäck, Wolf Winter