Eve

“Well, there it was. I got out fast then, before anyone could say "serenity" again, for it is a word I associate with death, and for several days after that meeting I wanted only to be in places where the lights were bright and no one counted days.”
― Joan Didion, Let Me Tell You What I Mean

“By which I mean not a "good" writer or a "bad" writer but simply a writer, a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arrang- ing words on pieces of paper. Had my credentials been in order I would never have become a writer. Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write. I write entirely to find out what I'm think- ing, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
― Joan Didion, Let Me Tell You What I Mean

“When you were a child, you tell me, you
lived under a tin roof, and whenever it rained, beneath its
slanting body, you’d sit and listen to the millions of pouring
droplets. In them you found tiny signs of the world, a place
where you could make sense of things through a divine sound
that poured over you.

This sound, you say, cloaked
your entire childhood, and underneath this sound were the
memories of your unfledged years.



She seems to have
cut ties with time; a minute to her would be a meaningless
sound, an hour a gentle breeze. She seems to glide through
time, as opposed to everyone else who scurries behind it;
perhaps her relationship with time has resulted in mutual
indifference, for they have lived with one another for so long
that they’ve gone their separate ways; but they respect each
other, her and time, from a metaphysical distance.”
― Nathanael Koah, Birds on a Carousel

“We acquire the feelings of others, especially beloved others, and imagine that what we have never seen or touched belongs to us, too, by imaginative connection.”
― Siri Hustvedt, Mothers, Fathers, and Others: Essays