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Christmas always rustled. It rustled every time, mysteriously, with silver and gold paper, tissue paper and a rich abundance of shiny paper, decorating and hiding everything and giving a feeling reckless extravagance.
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You can tell a lot about a person by the way he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.
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https://warpcast.com/dwr.eth/0x3f810803
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Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.
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Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poetry. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportianate, the absurd and the forbidden.
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The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
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Freedom is a muscle that must be exercised daily.
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I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my b
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Listening to critics is like letting Muhammad Ali decide which astronaut goes to the moon.
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You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.
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