“Because desire just cheats you. It’s like a sunbeam skipping here and there about a room. It stops and gilds some inconsequential object, and we poor fools try to grasp it—but when we do the sunbeam moves on to something else, and you’ve got the inconsequential part, but the glitter that made you want it is gone.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Beautiful and Damned)
“You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride."
“I’m thirty,” I said. “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
“Animal Collective have teamed up with the clothing company Keep to create their own line of shoes. The band has more shoe designs on the way, but the first of those designs is for sale now. Avey Tare has designed the Tobin, the trippy-looking slip-on you see above. It won’t ship until March, but you can pre-order it on the Keep website. Advance sales these shoes come packaged with cassettes of previously unreleased music.”
"To this day, I’m not sure that I am in possession of substantially greater self-knowledge than someone who has never been inside a therapist’s office. What I do know, aside from the fact that the unconscious plays strange tricks and that the past stalks the present in ways we can’t begin to imagine, is a certain language, a certain style of thinking that, in its capacity for reframing your life story, becomes — how should I put this? — addictive. Projection. Repression. Acting out. Defenses. Secondary compensation. Transference. Even in these quick-fix, medicated times, when people are more likely to look to Wellbutrin and life coaches than to the mystique-surrounded, intangible promise of psychoanalysis, these words speak to me with all the charged power of poetry, scattering light into opaque depths, interpreting that which lies beneath awareness. Whether they do so rightly or wrongly is almost beside the point.”
“He smiled understandingly — much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced — or seemed to face — the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
“The fire in the grate burned low, but I took no notice. Another smoldered in my heart. I sat late in the cold room tending it, feeding it, until sparks ignited in the dry tinder of my resentment, and it was as if i were sitting in a furnace.”—Valerie Martin (Property)
“A man sets himself the task of portraying the world. Through the years, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and people. Shortly before his death, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the image of his face.”—Jorge Luis Borges
“Are you okay?" she asked me.
“Of course,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“There are lots of reasons why you might not be okay.”
“There are lots of reasons why anyone might not be okay,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean that you’re okay.”—Peter Cameron (Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You)
It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m in my room blasting The Swell Season, thinking about tonight. About where I’d rather be, who I’d rather be. I’m waiting for night to fall so I can leave this feeling behind.
“To be nothing more than innocent! Yet in an esthetic way he saw the charm of it, the courageous free-and-easy temper of it, and fain would have shared it, but he despaired of it.”—Herman Melville (Billy Budd)
“You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap. We’re all singing, all dancing crap of the world.”—Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club) (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)
This is sold as “a long meditation on poetry, love, time, pain, and finishing the novel,” but it’s definitely … better than that. Or maybe it is that, and I’m just not digging the description like I should. In any case, this is beautiful and worth its reading time.