J > Recent Status Updates

The truth is that I am not one of those who find their satisfaction in one person, or in infinity. The private room bores me, also the sky. My being only glitters when all its facets are exposed to many people. Let them fail and I am full of holes, dwindling like burnt paper.

Estragon: What did we do yesterday?
Vladimir: What did we do yesterday?
Estragon: Yes.
Vladimir: Why... nothing is certain when you're about.

'Had I been born,' said Bernard, 'not knowing that one word follows another I might have been, who knows, perhaps anything...'

I am Bernard; I am Byron; I am this, that, and the other... I am more selves than Neville thinks. We are not simple as our friends would have us to meet their needs. Yet love is simple.

Both despise me for copying what they do; but Susan sometimes teaches me, for instance, how to tie a bow, while Jinny has her own knowledge but keeps it to herself. They have friends to sit by. They have things to say privately in corners. But I attach myself only to names and faces; and hoard them like amulets against disaster.

I would DNF this but I have to make an effort to read it for class... the hyper-religious medieval brethren authorship did Lancelot so dirty in this it's barely readable

I'm a little mad at myself for having slept on Mansfield for so long, not one single story so far has left me feeling so-so and now I'm scrambling to find a way to write my final paper for my modernist lit class on her!

Every morning I wake up, make my coffee and check in on these freaks. This one is weird, even for modernism. Maybe the best way to start the day....

This is one of the most insane books ever written

Far away from this barren north London, the chosen perfect stage for the last completion of a misery as wide as the world world, was her own dream world at home in her room, her strange unfailing self, the lovely world of lovely things seen in silence and tranquility, ...the myriad indescribable things of which day and night, in solitude, were full, at every moment...

Time pressed. The year was widening and lifting too rapidly towards the heights of June when everything but the green world, fresh gleaming in parks and squares through the London swelter, sweeping with the tones of spring and summer mingled amongst the changing trees, towards September, would fade from her grasp and disappear.

Uncannily similar to My Brilliant Friend (so I love it)

A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke.