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“We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.”
― The Garden of Proserpine
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.”
― The Garden of Proserpine
“Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first attempt at rose.
A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some hole in the sky. Syme felt a
simple surprise when he saw rising all round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He walked by instinct along one white
road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.”
― The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare
A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some hole in the sky. Syme felt a
simple surprise when he saw rising all round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He walked by instinct along one white
road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.”
― The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare
“The last thing he learned was that death is the end of pain.”
― The Marching Morons
― The Marching Morons
“I didn't notice I was crying until a stewardess came by and gave me a tissue to blow my nose in. Her arm and wrist were slender and they formed a pretty arch, like the limb of a fruit tree, as she poked the tissue into my clenched fist. She didn't look at my eyes. It was a perfect gesture, an expression of indifference and concern, which is the most a drunk can ask for.”
― The Woman Who Married a Bear
― The Woman Who Married a Bear
“I’ve been sitting here and thinking about God. I don’t think I believe in God any more. It is not only
me, I think of all the millions who must have lived like this in the war. The Anne Franks. And back
through history. What I feel I know now is that God doesn’t intervene. He lets us suffer. If you pray for
liberty then you may get relief just because you pray, or because things happen anyhow which bring
you liberty. But God can’t hear. There’s nothing human like hearing or seeing or pitying or helping
about him. I mean perhaps God has created the world and the fundamental laws of matter and
evolution. But he can’t care about the individuals. He’s planned it so some individuals are happy,
some sad, some lucky, some not. Who is sad, who is not, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. So he
doesn’t exist, really.
These last few days I’ve felt Godless. I’ve felt cleaner, less muddled, less blind. I still believe in a
God. But he’s so remote, so cold, so mathematical. I see that we have to live as if there is no God.
Prayer and worship and singing hymns—all silly and useless.
I’m trying to explain why I’m breaking with my principles (about never committing violence). It is
still my principle, but I see you have to break principles sometimes to survive. It’s no good trusting
vaguely in your luck, in Providence or God’s being kind to you. You have to act and fight for
yourself.
The sky is absolutely empty. Beautifully pure and empty.
As if the architects and builders would live in all the houses they built! Or could live in them all. It’s
obvious, it stares you in the face. There must be a God and he can’t know anything about us.”
― The Collector
me, I think of all the millions who must have lived like this in the war. The Anne Franks. And back
through history. What I feel I know now is that God doesn’t intervene. He lets us suffer. If you pray for
liberty then you may get relief just because you pray, or because things happen anyhow which bring
you liberty. But God can’t hear. There’s nothing human like hearing or seeing or pitying or helping
about him. I mean perhaps God has created the world and the fundamental laws of matter and
evolution. But he can’t care about the individuals. He’s planned it so some individuals are happy,
some sad, some lucky, some not. Who is sad, who is not, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. So he
doesn’t exist, really.
These last few days I’ve felt Godless. I’ve felt cleaner, less muddled, less blind. I still believe in a
God. But he’s so remote, so cold, so mathematical. I see that we have to live as if there is no God.
Prayer and worship and singing hymns—all silly and useless.
I’m trying to explain why I’m breaking with my principles (about never committing violence). It is
still my principle, but I see you have to break principles sometimes to survive. It’s no good trusting
vaguely in your luck, in Providence or God’s being kind to you. You have to act and fight for
yourself.
The sky is absolutely empty. Beautifully pure and empty.
As if the architects and builders would live in all the houses they built! Or could live in them all. It’s
obvious, it stares you in the face. There must be a God and he can’t know anything about us.”
― The Collector
Steve’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Steve’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
2,515 books
|
2,865 friends
733 books
|
21 friends
1,158 books
|
4,793 friends
1,272 books
|
129 friends
1,025 books
|
201 friends
4,276 books
|
4,999 friends
767 books
|
78 friends
9,989 books
|
530 friends
More friends…
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