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How to Think Like...
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Feb 22, 2025 11:35PM

 
An Apprenticeship...
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Zora Neale Hurston
“Love is lak de sea. It’s uh movin’ thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from de shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.”
Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

Joan Didion
“Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.”
Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

Haruki Murakami
“Such wounds to the heart will probably never heal. But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.”
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

Joan Didion
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect the shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be "healing." A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days. We imagine that the moment to most severely test us will be the funeral, after which this hypothetical healing will take place. When we anticipate the funeral we wonder about failing to "get through it," rise to the occasion, exhibit the "strength" that invariably gets mentioned as the correct response to death. We anticipate needing to steel ourselves the for the moment: will I be able to greet people, will I be able to leave the scene, will I be able even to get dressed that day? We have no way of knowing that this will not be the issue. We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief was we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.”
Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

year in books
Lisa Zheng
160 books | 8 friends

Sophia P
126 books | 7 friends

Anwitha...
42 books | 4 friends





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