Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why. -- Kurt Vonnegut
He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
I am a derivative thinker, a ferocious reader, secret artist, a nerd, an optimist (mostly), and a bit of a loner by choice. I like to travel with my taste buds; visiting other countries by sampling their cuisine and also reading about their culture and religious traditions. I am not very good at drawing, so I use my camera as my sketchbook. I use my blog as a commonplace book to express my thoughts and emotions using quotes and art.
Coffee & Tea, Quotes, Quirky Words, Reading, History, Rocks, Ephemera & Pictures with a Different Perspective
For I regard memory not as a phenomenon preserving one thing and losing another merely by chance, but as a power that deliberately places events in order or wisely omits them. Everything we forget about our own lives was really condemned to oblivion by an inner instinct long ago.
Stories are like spiders, with all they long legs, and stories are like spiderwebs, which man gets himself all tangled up in but which look pretty when you see them under a leaf in the morning dew, and in the elegant way that they connect to one another, each to each. — Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys
Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.
Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.
We are so far from denying there is any Unicorn at all, that we affirm there are many kinds thereof. — Thomas Browne
The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. — Chuck Palahniuk, Choke
Even as a young boy I had been in the habit of gazing at bizarre natural phenomena, not so much observing them as surrendering to their magic, their confused, deep language. Long gnarled tree roots, colored veins in rocks, patches of oil floating on water, light-refracting flaws in glass — all these things had held great magic for me at one time: water and fire particularly, smoke, clouds, and dust, but most of all the swirling specks of color that swam before my eyes the minute I closed them.