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Between Two Fires
Alana is currently reading
by Christopher Buehlman (Goodreads Author)
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Book cover for Sea of Tranquility
I’ve always loved rain, and knowing that it isn’t coming from clouds doesn’t make me love it less.
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Isaac Marion
“I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.”
Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

Marcel Proust
“Had my parents allowed me, when I read a book, to pay a visit to the region it described, I should have felt that I was making an enormous advance towards the ultimate conquest of truth. For even if we have the sensation of being always enveloped in, surrounded by our own soul, still it does not seem a fixed and immovable prison; rather do we seem to be borne away with it, and perpetually struggling to transcend it, to break out into the world, with a perpetual discouragement as we hear endlessly all around us that unvarying sound which is not an echo from without, but the resonance of a vibration from within. We try to discover in things, which become precious to us on that account, the reflection of what our soul has projected on to them; we are disillusioned when we find that they are in reality devoid of the charm which they owed, in our minds, to the association of certain ideas; sometimes we mobilise all our spiritual forces in a glittering array in order to bring our influence to bear on other human beings who, we very well know, are situated outside ourselves where we can never reach them.”
Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way

Raymond Carver
“there isn't enough of anything
as long as we live. But at intervals
a sweetness appears and, given a chance
prevails.”
Raymond Carver, Ultramarine: Poems

Carsten Jensen
“You died in the end, but you fought first.”
Carsten Jensen, We, the Drowned

Marcel Proust
“This was not to say, however, that she did not long, at times, for some greater change, that she did not experience some of those exceptional moments when one thirsts for something other than what is, and when those who, through lack of energy or imagination, are unable to generate any motive power in themselves, cry out, as the clock strikes or the postman knocks, for something new, even if it is worse, some emotion, some sorrow; when the heartstrings, which contentment has silenced, like a harp laid by, yearn to be plucked and sounded again by some hand, however rough, even if it should break them; when the will, which has with such difficulty won the right to indulge without let or hindrance in its own desires and woes, would gladly fling the reins into the hands of imperious circumstance, however cruel.”
Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way

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