“Is there no context for our lives? No song, no literature, no poem full of vitamins, no history connected to experience that you can pass along to help us start strong? You are an adult. The old one, the wise one. Stop thinking about saving your face. Think of our lives and tell us your particularized world. Make up a story. Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is being created. We will not blame you if your reach exceeds your grasp; if love so ignites your words they go down in flames and nothing is left but their scald. Or if, with the reticence of a surgeon's hands, your words suture only the places where blood might flow. We know you can never do it properly - once and for all. Passion is never enough; neither is skill. But try. For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don't tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief s wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear's caul. You, old woman, blessed with blindness, can speak the language that tells us what only language can: how to see without pictures. Language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. Language alone is meditation.”
― The Nobel Lecture in Literature, 1993
― The Nobel Lecture in Literature, 1993
“I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors.”
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“[Children] just cannot be sad too long, it is not in them, as children mourn in little bits here and there like patchwork in their lives.”
― These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901
― These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901
“What could he and she really know of each other, since it was his duty, as a "decent" fellow, to conceal his past from her, and hers, as a marriageable girl, to have no past to conceal?”
― The Age of Innocence
― The Age of Innocence
“And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly”
― The Story of Ferdinand
― The Story of Ferdinand
Max’s 2025 Year in Books
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