Everything seems to strain upward and downward and outward at once.


“How it felt to me: that is getting closer to the truth about a notebook. I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am supposed to do, which is write — on that bankrupt morning I will simply open my notebook and there it will all be, a forgotten account with accumulated interest, paid passage back to the world out there.”
― Slouching Towards Bethlehem
― Slouching Towards Bethlehem

“almost like how painters had once used the camera obscura: by looking indirectly at the thing they wanted to focus on, they were sometimes able to see it even more clearly than with their own eyes.”
― Cold Enough for Snow
― Cold Enough for Snow

“I want nothing from love, in short, but love.”
― The Vagabond
― The Vagabond

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