Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
–(from Macbeth, spoken by Macbeth) by William Shakespeare
“… to believe that no matter how bad the world gets, there will always be players” (GZ)
“I have faltered in my appointed duty.
It is a small sacrilege, a minor heresy.
[…]
To whom is their offering rendered,
and from whom derived,
these fallen things
[…]
its fragrance is a tendril
connecting my mind to the rain,
a root, a tap, a tether.
–Campbell McGrath, Late Spring.
“There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—“it’s a haunted house.” (GZ)
Cuckoo Is in the Nest by Daniel Pemberton, Amsterdam.
Bolster our psychological immune system (via theguardian) : position our perspective in a neutral zone rather than see through a negative bias; try to be in present moment; aim for the meaningful and purposeful; accept how, where/when, and what we are while we are in as we experience difficulties in life.
“… And I ordered my heart to be patient: Be neutral as if you were not of me!” – (Mahmoud Darwish)
“a gate was … an indication that you had left one space and were entering another. […] life was always arriving. There was always another gate to pass through.
[…]
The greatest pleasures of his life had been when he was by her side, playing or inventing.”
-(GZ)
“Only the wayward appreciated her riotous conduct and wild habits and longing to create a life from nothing … only they could discern the beautiful plot … desire for an elsewhere and an otherwise … a notion of the possible whose outlines were fuzzy and amorphous” (SH)
“[Beauty], where one wishes to go”
“The meaning subverts the form, and elegance of form is always capable of being corrupted by what meaning it delivers.” (RS)
“… But today the gulls are silver angels etching
great cursive blessings in a perfect sky—so Death & I
make believe we believe that, & amble on.”
–Laure-Anne Bosselaar, Late Afternoon Stroll on the Cliffs
“and here—desolate, roughly surfaced, lined with eucalyptus and lemon groves—is Banyan Street.
[…]
into this perfect mold might be poured the inarticulate longings of a nation
[…]
one of those circumstances that satisfy one’s suspicion that life is indeed a scenario […] beautiful in its venality and in its devotion to immediate gratification
[…]
distinguishing between what happened and what merely might have happened, but I remain unconvinced that the distinction, for my purposes, matters
[…]
We must be aware of the dangers which lie in our most generous wishes
[…]
not places at all but abstractions”
-Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem: Essays