Shane Woolley
https://www.goodreads.com/shwoolley
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(461)
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read (150)
politics-society (147)
architecture-design (102)
literature-fiction (85)
urban-planning (55)
currently-reading (0)
read (150)
politics-society (147)
architecture-design (102)
literature-fiction (85)
urban-planning (55)
history-war
(43)
horror (38)
travel-naturalism (19)
sci-fi-fantasy (16)
favorites (15)
music (13)
poetry (12)
horror (38)
travel-naturalism (19)
sci-fi-fantasy (16)
favorites (15)
music (13)
poetry (12)
“Synchronize watches at oh six hundred' says the infantry captain, and each of his huddled lieutenants finds respite from fear in the act of bringing two tiny pointers into jeweled alignment while tons of heavy artillery go fluttering overhead: the prosaic, civilian-looking dial of the watch has restored, however briefly, an illusion of personal control. Good, it counsels, looking tidily up from the hairs and veins of each terribly vulnerable wrist; fine: so far, everything's happening right on time.”
― Revolutionary Road
― Revolutionary Road
“He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.”
― The Road
― The Road
“O where will you go when the blinding flash
Scatters the seed of a million suns?
And what will you do in the rain of ash?
I'll draw the blinds and pull down the sash,
And hide from the sight of so many noons.
But how will it be when the blinding flash
Disturbs your body's close-knit mesh
Bringing to light your lovely bones?
What will you wear in the rain of ash?
I will go bare without my flesh,
My vertebrae will click like stones.
Ah. But where will you dance when the blinding flash
Settles the city in a holy hush?
I will dance alone among the ruins.
Ah. And what will you say to the rain of ash?
I will be charming. My subtle speech
Will weave close turns and counter-turns-
No. What will you say to the rain of ash?
Nothing, after the blinding flash
- Terminal Colloquy”
― Villanelles
Scatters the seed of a million suns?
And what will you do in the rain of ash?
I'll draw the blinds and pull down the sash,
And hide from the sight of so many noons.
But how will it be when the blinding flash
Disturbs your body's close-knit mesh
Bringing to light your lovely bones?
What will you wear in the rain of ash?
I will go bare without my flesh,
My vertebrae will click like stones.
Ah. But where will you dance when the blinding flash
Settles the city in a holy hush?
I will dance alone among the ruins.
Ah. And what will you say to the rain of ash?
I will be charming. My subtle speech
Will weave close turns and counter-turns-
No. What will you say to the rain of ash?
Nothing, after the blinding flash
- Terminal Colloquy”
― Villanelles
“Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong
Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.”
― The Tempest
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong
Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.”
― The Tempest
“Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
― The Tempest
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
― The Tempest
Shane’s 2025 Year in Books
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