Michael Morgan > Recent Status Updates

You think it will never happen to you, that it cannot happen to you, that you are the only person in the world to whom none of these things will ever happen, and then, one by one, they all begin to happen to you, in the same way they happen to everyone else.

Speak now before it is too late, and then hope to go on speaking until there is nothing more to be said.

Such a beautiful brain-buster.

“One is a lot brighter unrested than after a good night’s sleep.”

Now I’m even losing my name—it was getting shorter and shorter all
the time and is now: Yours.

I took a rather long walk alone, for the first time actually, otherwise I’ve always gone with other people or mostly just stayed at home. Good heavens, Milena, if you were here, and my pitiful, un-thinking mind! And still I would be lying if I said I missed you: it’s the most perfect, most painful magic, you are here, just as I am and even more so; wherever I am, there you are too, and even more intensely.

Milena, I can't listen both to the terrible inner voices and to you simultaneously, but I can listen to what the voices are saying and confide this in you, trusting you like no other person in the world.

Milena, you complain about some letters that you turn them in all directions and nothing falls out, but if I’m not mistaken those are precisely the ones where I was so close to you, my blood so restrained, restraining your own, so deep in the forest, so resting in rest, that nothing needed to be said, except perhaps that you can see the sky through the trees, that’s all.

Milena, I don't want to come to Vienna, because I couldn't stand the mental stress. I am spiritually ill, my lung disease is nothing but an overflowing of my spiritual disease. I don't want to unfold to you the whole long story with its veritable forest of details, which still scare me, like a child, except that I lack a child's power to forget.

Just how well, Milena, do you know human nature? I sometimes have
my doubts.

Dear Frau Milena, the day is so short, between you and a few other things which are of no significance it is over and done with. There's hardly any time left to write to the real Milena, since the even more real one was here the whole day, in the room, on the balcony, in the clouds.
May 29, 1920

It occurs to me that I really can’t remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress, that I still see.

Definitely unusual. Challenging too.

Almost done...

When Clara kissed him, Lorena looked down, nothing but despair in her heart.

“You ain’t listening,” Augustus said. “I was trying to explain why you ought to marry. If you had a passel of kids, then you’d always have a troop to boss when you felt like bossing. It would occupy your brain and you wouldn’t get gloomy as often.”
“I doubt that marriage could be worse than having to listen to you,” Call said, “but that ain’t much of a testimonial for it.”

I love this book.

He felt alone... His failure to discover any mite of resemblance in their view points made him more miserable than before. He was a mental outcast.