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"I read the gnarly and confusing introduction by the translator only to arrive at the same conclusive point, and in my opinion, that's a genius introduction.
Oh boy, I finally have calmed the narrow channels of water to get to Dostoevsky's final work, just one year before his death. And while it's a novel in its construct, it's supposed to contain his entire life. Let's see what it holds.
Part 1 & salvation is due." — Aug 20, 2025 09:45PM
"I read the gnarly and confusing introduction by the translator only to arrive at the same conclusive point, and in my opinion, that's a genius introduction.
Oh boy, I finally have calmed the narrow channels of water to get to Dostoevsky's final work, just one year before his death. And while it's a novel in its construct, it's supposed to contain his entire life. Let's see what it holds.
Part 1 & salvation is due." — Aug 20, 2025 09:45PM
“How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn’t touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn’t resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin’s bow,
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.
- Love Song”
― Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose
it doesn’t touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn’t resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin’s bow,
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.
- Love Song”
― Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose
“We sit in the mud, my friend, and reach for the stars.”
― Fathers and Sons
― Fathers and Sons
“A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.”
― The Leaf and the Cloud: A Poem
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.”
― The Leaf and the Cloud: A Poem
“How wonderful that the universe is beautiful in so many places and in so many ways. But also the universe is brisk and businesslike, and no doubt does not give its delicate landscapes or its thunderous displays of power, and perhaps perception, too, for our sakes or our improvement. Nevertheless, its intonations are our best tonics, if we would take them. For the universe is full of radiant suggestion. For whatever reason, the heart cannot separate the world’s appearance and actions from morality and valor, and the power of every idea is intensified, if not actually created, by its expression in substance. Over and over in the butterfly we see the idea of transcendence. In the forest we see not the inert but the aspiring. In water that departs forever and forever returns, we experience eternity.”
― Upstream: Selected Essays
― Upstream: Selected Essays
“I think what you know in a language shows who you are in relation to that language. Not an instance of language shaping your worldview, but its obtuse inverse, where your worldview shapes what parts of the language you pick up. Not just : your language makes you, your language holds you prisoner to a particular way of looking at the world. But also : who you are determines what language you inhabit, the prison-house of your existence permits you only to access and wield some parts of a language.”
― When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife
― When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife
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