Mittwoch, 29. August 2012
Samstag, 25. August 2012
Donnerstag, 23. August 2012
Paul Auster, in an interview with the Paris Review, 2003
So many strange things have happened to me in my life, so many unexpected and improbable events, I’m no longer certain that I know what reality is anymore. All I can do is talk about the mechanics of reality, to gather evidence about what goes on in the world and try to record it as faithfully as I can. I’ve used that approach in my novels. It’s not a method so much as an act of faith: to present things as they really happen, not as they’re supposed to happen or as we’d like them to happen. Novels are fictions, of course, and therefore they tell lies (in the strictest sense of the term), but through those lies every novelist attempts to tell the truth about the world. Taken together, the little stories in The Red Notebook present a kind of position paper on how I see the world. The bare-bones truth about the unpredictability of experience. There’s not a shred of the imaginary in them. There can’t be. You make a pact with yourself to tell the truth and you’d rather cut off your right arm than break that promise. Interestingly enough, the literary model I had in mind when I wrote those pieces was the joke. The joke is the purest, most essential form of storytelling. Every word has to count.
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 05:31
Freitag, 17. August 2012
Manchmal war sie so zart und empfindlich, dass alles Fremde ihr weh tat und sie leicht zum weinen brachte.
Immer wenn ich deinen Namen sage will er mich noch außerdem an etwas mahnen. Ich weiß nicht was.
Als sei er mir mit ganz tiefen, fernen, mächtigen Erinnerungen verknüpft und doch weiß und finde ich nicht was das sein könnte.
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 16:31
Mittwoch, 15. August 2012
Dienstag, 7. August 2012
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 04:49
Whales have been evolving for thirty million years. To our one million. A sperm whale’s brain is seven times the size of mine.
The great size of his body has little to do with the great size of his brain, other than as a place to keep it.
I have What If fantasies… what if the catalyst or the key to understanding creation lay somewhere in the immense mind of the whale?
Some species go for months without eating anything. Just completely idle..
So they have this incredible mental apparatus and no one has the least notion what they do with it.
Lilly says that the most logical supposition, based on physiological and ecological evidence, is that they contemplate the universe
Suppose God came back from wherever it is he’s been and asked us smilingly if we’d figure it out yet. Suppose he wanted to know if it had finally occurred to us to ask the whale.
And then he sort of looked around and he said, “By the way, where are the whales?
— Cormac McCarthy, Of Whales and Men
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 04:42
Sonntag, 5. August 2012
Homer: So, I realized that being with my family is more important than being cool.
Bart: Dad, what you just said was powerfully uncool.
Homer: You know what the song says: “It’s hip to be square”.
Lisa: That song is so lame. Homer: So lame that it’s… cool?
Marge: Am I cool, kids?
Marge: Good. I’m glad. And that’s what makes me cool, not caring, right?
Marge: Well, how the hell do you be cool? I feel like we’ve tried everything here.
Homer: Wait, Marge. Maybe if you’re truly cool, you don’t need to be told you’re cool.
Bart: Well, sure you do.
Lisa: How else would you know?
What's cooler than being cool?
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 14:59
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 14:52
Samstag, 4. August 2012
"All he wanted to do was sleep.
And for the first time, he wished he were far away. Lost in a deep, vast country where nobody knew him.
Somewhere without language, or streets. He dreamed about this place without knowing its name. And when he woke up, he was on fire."
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 15:35
Eingestellt von kyra zoe um 15:25